


The Broken Road

by arrowsong



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hats, Lots of Tea, Romance, Saving the World, Slow Build, Storybrooke, Tea, Travels, Wonderland, white rabbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 76,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsong/pseuds/arrowsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange inheritance from a mysterious benefactor brings writer March Hase to the sleepy little town of Storybrooke Maine, where nothing, and no one is as they seem. As March tries settling into her new life friendships will be forged and broken along the way, love will be found, and she quickly learns that even Happily Ever After comes at a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Storybrooke

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is both a prequel and sequel to the reader insert story I've written - Saved by a Hare. Here we will see March and Jefferson back when they first meet, watch their relationship grow and develope, and see what happens after the curse is broken.
> 
> Also let it be known that those Graphic Novels DO NOT EXIST in this world. This fic is based purely off the show. I've been writing it for a while now and finally have a substantial enough amount to post - I started this before the gn's were released.

_It can’t be much further, can it? No, it has to be around here somewhere._

An endless stream of trees flew by as March scanned the sides of the curving road, searching for some kind of sign that might direct her to the town she was looking for, from the front seat of her Buick verano. Trust her to get lost despite having three different copies of the _Maps of Maine_ on the seat beside her, and Google maps opened on her Samsung galaxy. If she didn’t find this place soon she’d have to camp out in her car over night, and she really didn’t want to do that, again. 

The last time ended with her almost getting booked for solicitation thanks to an awkward misunderstanding with a highway patrol officer.

The cage next to her, strapped snugly to the seat with the passenger seatbelt, rattled. Looking over beside her March smiled, sticking her fingers in the cage to tickle the chin of her furry, little companion.  “Don’t worry Percy, we’ll find it.  Eventually.  Our luck is bound to turn around,” she sighed. “It has to.”  She stroked as much of the white rabbit’s soft fur as she could while she spoke to him.  His nose twitched back in reply and she knew he was in agreement.

Their day had gotten off to a sour start when they slept through their alarm, causing them to miss their checkout of the hotel.  After paying the late charges they got on to highway 84 in Connecticut just outside of Hartford. After nearly an hour on the road she missed the exit towards Auburn, and spent an additional thirty minutes trying to correct that mistake.  Then, she had only been on the road another forty-five minutes before she got lost again trying to find Lowell where she’d get onto the 495.  Now she appeared to be lost in the middle of damn well nowhere without so much as a sign to tell her what was near by. To make matters worse, she lost service on her phone so the GPS was essentially useless at this point.

Her only chance of finding this seemingly imaginary town was to continue winding her way along the seemingly endless road, and hope against hope that she’d find something, and soon.  

It was not going well.

Rounding corner after corner, March was certain she was no closer to her destination that she had been an hour ago.  She even began questioning if her destination even existed.  No one she spoke to had even heard of the town she was looking for. Turning around the next corner March found something that nearly brought tears of joy to her eyes.

A sign. 

There was a giant road sign listing the towns coming up for the next hundred miles, and the one she was looking for was at the top of the list.  “See Percy,” she flashed a relieved grin, glancing quickly down at the rabbit, with his nose still twitching away furiously in his cage, “I told you we were almost there.”

They rounded a few more corners until they came across a large wooden sign that read, “Welcome to Storybrooke.” Covering up a monstrous yawn, March fought to keep her eyes on the road.  Despite their late start she was starting to feel the strain of their long journey.  What the hell made her think a road trip was such a good idea? She hated driving – flying was definitely the way to go.

Looking down at the clock on the dashboard she hadn’t realized the late hour, and grumbled about it being too late to grab a bite to eat. Looks like it was going to be granola bars and veggies with humus for dinner tonight.  Again.  Oh well, it was better than nothing.  Though, she cursed herself for not pulling over somewhere to eat when she had the chance. 

 Her focus on trying to get back on route, and the fact that she hadn’t counted on getting turned around quite so many times, caused her to lose all track of time.   She just thanked God she had the foresight to fill up with gas in the last town she drove through. Once she arrived at the address she wrote on her palm with black sharpie this morning she was sure she’d feel better.   

Driving into town she looked over at Percival.  “Alright boy, keep your eyes open for 1398 Main St.” Taking her own advice, she began scanning each building, searching for the number she was looking for.

Evidently she had her work cut out for her tonight.  Everything was on Main Street.  Having spent most of her adult life living in London and Los Angeles, and not in a small town, March was use to a city having more than one street designated for businesses. That was apparently not the case in Storybrooke. 

“So this is a small town,” she observed, soaking it all in.  She’d heard stories about these places.  Good and bad.  Good, being that they were great places to grow up and raise a family in, with a close knit community who cared for each other.  Bad, being that they were often judgemental, sometimes racist, and they tended to reject outsiders and anybody considered different or quirky, people who spoke out of turn and rarely followed conversation, and probably people with multiple piercings and were covered in tattoos - even if the tattoos rocked.

Sucking the air through her teeth, she looked around.   Everything was closed due to the late hour, so she’d have to wait until the morning to go out exploring, and trying to meet some of the locals. “Well this should go over well,” she nodded, still trying to convince herself that this was not all some stupid, crazy, idea.  Though she had to admit, the more she saw of the town the more she started to notice, and appreciate, its low key charm.

Checking, and rechecking the address written on the back of her hand, she realized she must have passed the place. “Great. One bloody street in the whole ruddy town, and I can’t find the gorram address,” she cursed.

Pulling the car over she set it in park and pulled out her phone again.  At least now she had cell service.  _Thank Tolkien,_ she grumbled to herself.  Scrunching her eyes shut she rested her forehead against the top of her steering wheel.  _Calm down March, it’s just been a long day. Deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Dr. Myers taught you._   She thought calmly, pinching the bridge of her nose.  Looking down at the maps on her phone she noticed she missed three calls and a voicemail.

“Not now mother.” She ignored the notifications while typing the address into her phone.  “What the hell do you mean, the town does not exist? I’m sitting in the middle of the town, you two faced son of a dementor.”  She yelled at the hand held device when the error message flashed across the screen.  “I knew I should have thrown you out the window when I had the chance!” She tossed the phone on the seat behind her. 

 _Good plan March_ , she chided.  _Yell abuse at the phone – that won’t make people stare._ Peering around, observing the deserted streets, she was grateful that there was no one around to witness the little episode with her mobile.  Then again, she was rather use to people staring at her as though she were mad.  Though it would be preferable if she could manage to avoid people drawing that conclusion about her on her first night in town.  Let her get established first, make a few acquaintances - then they could call her mad.  That was perfectly acceptable.  That was the norm.

Grumbling she shifted the car out of park and continued along the main drag.  She’d just have to keep circling until she found the place she was looking for.  Approaching the end of the street March readied herself to turn the car around, and try again when she found 1398 written in gold paint.  It was right above the door of a small shop on the corner of Main Street and a smaller cross road.

“Oh, Merciful Rowling. Thank-you,” she exhaled in relief.

Parking the car in front of the store she pulled the key out of the ignition and reached for the brown leather satchel from the floor of the back seat.

“Alright, let’s see if this works,” she said excitedly to the rabbit. 

Getting out of the car, she grabbed a duffel bag from the trunk before coming round to remove the rabbit cage from the passenger seat.  Percival hopped around his cage in a circle, unsure of the cause for the sudden movement, but whatever it was it made him anxious.    Finally he retreated to the safety of his hidey hole in the far left corner of his cage as March set him on the ground.

“You're a real lion heart, aren't you Percy?” She chuckled, digging out the key from one of the numerous pockets of her satchel.  “Moment of truth,” she looked down at the cowardly rabbit. 

Sliding the key into the lock she turned it ninety degrees to the left.  She was rewarded to the sound of the gears unlocking, and the door pushing open.

“And here I was half expecting it to break in the lock,” she admitted, picking up the rabbit’s cage, bringing him inside.

Everything in sight was covered in white sheets, and thick layers of dust to boot.  It was clear that no one had used this space in a long time. That didn’t bother March. A little bit of hard work and elbow grease, and she’d have this place up and running in no time. Looking around she found where her main counter would be.  It was there she spied the light switch.

Walking over to the counter she flicked the switch, and to her delight the entire store lit up. “Let there be light.” She returned, dancing with excitement, to where she abandoned her belongings on hardwood floor.

“Right,” She nodded in affirmation. “Shall we get started?” She asked looking at the rabbit.

Percival had ventured out from his hole and waited expectantly by the door of his cage.  Looking up at her with his ink black eyes, he twitched his nose again.

“Oh alright,” she grinned bending down to open the hatch.  “You know the rules – you _go_ in the cage, or I won’t let you out anymore.” She warned, lifting him out from the wire confines.  “Be free little one,” she encouraged, placing him on the floor.

For now she had everything she needed for the night.  She’d go out tomorrow and get the rest of the things from her car.  But first thing was first, reaching into her duffel bag she pulled out four things; a small silver tin, a bottle of water, a travel mug, and a kettle.

“I think this calls for a cup of tea,” she announced to Percival as she walked over to the nearest outlet, plugging the kettle in after filling it with fresh water from the bottle. She poured the leaves from the tin into the mesh strainer in the thermos.

While she waited for the water to boil, she pulled out a portable set of speakers and hooked them up to her iPod.

“What do we think Percy?” She called over her shoulder, looking for the rabbit.  “Do we want the Beatles, Eminem, KISS or Mumford and Sons for while we work?”  Spying the rabbit sitting in the corner, looking out the glass windows towards the main street he thumped his foot once, and she nodded.  “You’re absolutely right.  Nobody beats Freddie.”

Scrolling through her music library until she found Queen under the artists section, she hit the shuffle button just as the electric kettle turned off.

Pouring the water into her cup she walked to the centre of the store and plopped herself down on the floor. Looking around she grinned. This.  All of this was hers.  She still couldn’t believe her luck; somebody just happened to leave her a store with adjoining flat upstairs. 

Looking down she noticed Percival had hopped over to her, and was nestling against her lap.  “Welcome to our new home, Percy,” she grinned, clinking her mug against the top corner of his cage in a cheers, before taking a slow, cautious sip.

Black tea with tea leaves from London, chocolate, white chocolate, and beet root.  Steeped for three and a half minutes. No sweetener. 

No tea with chocolate should have sweetener added to it – ruins the flavour.

 _Oh God that’s good,_ she thought as the tea warmed her to the core.  The added caffeine from the chocolate mixed with the black tea leaves gave her the energy she needed to work through most of the night getting everything established. 

There were so many things she still had to get done.  She hadn’t even gone upstairs yet to inspect the flat she and Percy would be living in. But there would be time for that later.

In a few minutes she’d get up, and get to work on cleaning up the store.  She liked working while the rest of the town lay sleeping. It made her feel like she was the only person in the world, and for the most part, she liked that.   But for now, she was content just to sit on the floor of her shop with her rabbit in her lap, drinking tea, and dreaming of all the wonderful possibilities this space, and this town, held for her. 

“See Percy,” she pointed over to the corner enthusiastically.  “We’re going to put tables there, and there.  And here’s where people will come to order what kind of tea they want, and we’ll sell loose leaf tea as well so people can brew some at home as well.   We’ll have us a real quaint little tea shop– you’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

In a large house, too large for any one to live in alone, nestled on the edge of the forest on the other side of town shadows moved along illuminated walls.  Sitting in a chair, all alone in his living room, a young man, close to the age of thirty, was proof that not everyone in Storybrooke lay fast asleep in their beds.  He sat, poised, facing the window, fascinated and intrigued by what he saw.

He had watched as a young woman pulled a rabbit cage out of a car, and stepped into the old, long abandoned, storefront.   He had been watching her through the lens of his telescope from the moment she drove over the town line, entering Storybrooke.  And, he continued to watch her as she sat on the floor drinking a cup of tea, stroking the white rabbit in her lap.

Sitting back, he covered the eyepiece of his scope with the palm of his hand as he lost himself in his thoughts.   _It’s not possible,_ he thought before quickly peering through the glass again. Convinced he had to have made some mistake. It just wasn’t possible. 

Strangers could not enter Storybrooke, except for the Saviour, and characters could not leave without disastrous consequences.  Yet, he had never seen the young woman, now dancing about the empty store, ripping off the dust soaked sheets covering the furniture.  He had no recollection of who she was, in this world or the other.

Taking one last look as she twirled around the room, toffee coloured hair flying in all directions, he got up from his seat by the window.  Walking down the hall, and down a flight of stairs he took his seat at an old, large worktable.  Reaching, he grabbed for the nearest pair of scissors. 

Gleaming under the fluorescent lighting, he admired the scissors’ sharp edge as they snipped away a few loose threads.  Picking up the newly completed hat he picked a piece of dust off the smooth velvet brim, before setting it on the shelf behind him with dozens of identical hats on display. 

Sitting back down in his plush work chair, he smiled maniacally as he prepped his tools to start creating another hat. 

Oh yes, things in the little cursed town of Storybrooke were about to get interesting.


	2. Meet & Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March gets out of the shop on her first full day in town, and meets a few of the local inhabitants.

Despite being late to bed, the sun peaking in through the dusty blinds in her flat caused March to roll out of bed early the following morning.  There were too many things for her to do if she ever wanted to get the shop off the ground.  She had calls to make, utilities to set up, renovations to make, and a town to explore.

She had already called the guys to get her Wi-Fi set up, take over the electricity from the mysterious previous owner, and have someone to take a look at the hot water tank.

It came a quite the nasty shock that morning to learn her flat lacked any and all hot water. Instead of her usual hot shower to wake her up, she settled for trying not to catch hypothermia as she washed her hair with ice water. 

It was an even nastier shock to learn that the guy wouldn’t be able to come for another week to take a look at her hot water.  But all in all she had been rather pleased with all the progress she was making.  

With most of the nitty gritty details taken care of, she’d be able to focus more of her attention over the next few days on the business side of her store – contacting providers, creating contracts with local businesses, getting everything set up, the till running etc.  For the rest of the day she continued with the cleaning and unpacking of boxes both in the store, and her flat.

Lost in all of the preparations for the store, March lost track of time.  Not that she ever really had a sense of time in the first place. She only stopped to look at the clock on her laptop when her stomach started to rumble – telling her it was time to take a break and grab something to eat.

That was how she usually lived, without any formal kind of schedule, just seeing where the day would take her. Whenever she was hungry meant it was time to eat.  When she felt tired meant it was time to sleep.  Now that she was about to be a business owner, she would have to adjust her lifestyle, again.

Still, she was hungry now, and that meant it was time to eat – only she had nothing to eat in the flat, or in the shop, yet.  Mentally she reminded herself that she would have to go out and do groceries later.  For now, she would simply have to go out and find somewhere to grab a bite.  Besides, she was overdue for some exploration of her new surroundings.

Realizing that some might deem her black spandex shorts and purple tank top inappropriate clothing for late February, she raced upstairs, taking them two at a time, to put on a few more layers. Standing in her new flat with suitcase wide open in the middle of the living room floor she March realized just how grossly under prepared she was for life on the East Coast. Most, if not all, her winter clothes were in storage back in London.  She had no need for thick sweaters and heavy winter jackets over in LA. She would have to go shopping, but for the time being she had a feeling her navy Captain America hoodie was going to be getting a lot of love over the next few weeks. Rummaging through the piles of clothes she did think to bring with her – and the pieces Tony snuck in as well, knowing full well that in her scattered mind she’d forgotten some necessities – she found a few pieces that would be appropriate for the streets of Storybrooke.   

Coming back down the stairs in a pair of faded old jeans, a black and white chequered shirt she’d thrown over her tank top, and her converse high tops with the union flag, she was ready to step out. The shoes had been a going away gift from her mum when she set out for America five years ago.  That way she’s always have a little piece of home with her, no matter where her feet might take her. 

It was a cute thought.

 _All right Storybrooke, hit me with your best shot_ , she thought nervously wrapping a teal eternity scarf around her neck. Stepping out the front door, she locked the door behind her and began walking in no direction in particular.

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door.” March recited the passage softly under her breath with a nervous smile.  Personally, she preferred the Return of the King to the Fellowship, both book and movie, but Bilbo did offer some solid advice.  Eyes darting around as she walked, March could only wonder where this road might take her. 

The streets, she found, were unusually quiet.  Perhaps this was just small town life.  March was used to fighting with hundreds people on the sidewalks to go to the coffee shop just around the corner.  This was strange, eerie even.

Wandering further down the street, March kept her eyes trained on the buildings.  Taking in all there was to see, examining the shop fronts as she walked March noted the company she would be in, concerning business. So far she had come across an auto repair shop, a psychiatrist’s office – one she hoped she would never have to visit – a drugstore, and a pawnshop. 

All in all seemed pretty mundane. _Small town America,_ she thought to herself.  She turned to look back in the direction she just came from, perhaps she could so with a little mundane in her life. 

“Are you lost?”  A small, chipper voice came from behind her.

Quickly turning back around, March almost ran into the source of the voice. 

It belonged to a young boy. He had tousled brown hair, hazel eyes, kind smile, and wore a navy blue school uniform.

“Oh,” she looked back, startled for a brief second. “Hello there,” she offered him an apologetic smile for nearly running into him.   “You might say that,” she replied to his earlier question.  “I’m kind of new here. Well not kind of. I am new. Just got in last night actually. So, I’m really new. Why did I say kind of? I don’t know. It’s not really all that applicable now, is it?” She stopped herself, smiling contemptuously as she pinched the bridge of her nose, effectively bringing an end to her rambling, an unfortunate side effect when she was tired, or hungry, or nervous, or awake. Really, it was just an unfortunate side effect of her personality. “Think you might be able to tell me where a good place to grab some lunch would be?” She asked looking around.

A few more people came out on to the streets.  Lunch time traffic. But March had the distinct feeling the kid would still be her best shot.   Everyone else just seemed so busy, and unwelcoming in the way they frantically bustled about.  At least the kid smiled.  Trust her luck, in town less than 24 hours and the first friend she makes is a kid she had absolutely no relation to.

“Granny’s,” he replied immediately, as though it were the most obvious answer.  “It’s the diner just ahead,” he pointed down the street. “I’m meeting my mom there. I can take you, if you want?” He offered cheerfully.

“Oh, that would be just brilliant,” she sighed with relief. “Thank-you.”

Together the two of them walked down the street in relative silence until the boy looked up at her. “So how did you get here?”

“I drove.” She explained, slightly take back the question.  How the Azkaban else was she supposed to get here?  Storybrooke had no airport, no train stations – was she suppose to hop on her magic carpet, or the nearest Thestral, and fly in?

“No, I mean how did you manage to cross the town line – strangers can’t enter Storybrooke.” He explained earnestly. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just kind of drove over it I guess,” March replied hesitantly.  What the hell did her mean strangers couldn’t enter the town? Did she somehow miss the armed guards and bloodhounds with their spike strips surrounding the perimeters?

“You can only do that if you belong here – but who are you?”  He asked, his face contorting as though he were trying to puzzle out some complicated math problem.

“Officially, the strangest ‘welcome to town’ I’ve heard yet – but thanks . . . I think.”  March’s brows furrowed as she dwelled on his stranger greeting.  “The name’s March, by the way,” she added quickly abandoning the boy’s peculiar behaviour in the past. Kids were a strange breed.  She didn’t want to remember all the weird shenanigans she’d gotten into at his age.

“Henry,” the boy offered in turn as they approached an old pale greyish white building with a green fence.

There were a few stairs leading to the front glass doors in a large open courtyard with picnic tables and benches set up.  A large blue, and white neon sign above the door read Granny’s Diner.   Honestly, if she had to guess, March would say this was the epitome of small town life.

Henry held open the door for March as they walked into the diner.  Once inside she realized that she was wrong.  The interior was right out of a movie – this was truly the epitome of small town life, in the 1980’s.  The walls were covered in a soft blue wall paper plastered with trees, and were lined with booths lined with red vinyl and metal tables. The waitresses wore white and there was a bar along one wall, separating diner from kitchen, with lines of pie and cake plates placed sporadically along the metal top.

“Everything okay?” Henry asked, looking back after stepping inside. 

Everyone stopped, and looked at them. Most of the people sitting inside greeted Henry in a friendly manner, while staring at March in utter confusion.  Every thought plainly written on their faces: _Who is this woman?  Why is she here?  What is she doing with Henry? She’s not one of us._

Still looking around March murmured, “I’ve either stepped into a dream come true, or my worst nightmare.” Catching Henry’s eye she leaned down, and added, “still too early to tell.”

Henry laughed awkwardly as he made his way to the nearest available seat.  He threw his bag into a corner booth and motioned for March to join him. “My mom’s not here yet. You can sit there.”

March nodded appreciatively as she slid into the booth across from Henry.  She could still feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on her. Anxiety slowly crept up the small of her back sending a chill throughout her entire system, forcing her to shudder despite the dinner’s thermostat working in overdrive to combat the early spring chill outside.  Nervously she began toying with the silver talisman around her neck.

“Hey Henry, who’s your friend?”

A woman around March’s age with long dark brown hair mixed with fire truck red streaks strode over to their table. Despite the cold weather outside, the girl was dressed in impossibly short bright red shorts, and a crisp white button down shirt, which she tied up to expose her midriff.

“Hi Ruby,” Henry greeted her as cheerily as he had March.  “This is March.”

March offered the girl the least awkward smile she could manage and waved.  “I just moved to town. Henry was kind enough to show me where I might find some food,” she explained with short rushed sentences. 

Immediately, she decided that she liked this girl, Ruby.  She was unabashedly unafraid to be herself.  March admired that.  She wished more people would express themselves, rather than trying to conceal their personalities from the world, afraid of judgement – as though one singular quality could define an entire person.

“So what brings you to our sleepy little town?” Ruby asked sounding bored as she set a couple glasses of water in front of them.  “Not too many people even know we’re here.”

“Well, neither did I until about a month ago.” March explained taking a sip of water.  “It sounds odd, but I've inherited a shop here just a couple blocks up Main Street.  That’s actually what brought me here.”

“From who?” Ruby asked in disbelief. “No one’s died here since Graham – he was the sheriff – and he did _not_ own a store.” 

“I don’t know,” March shrugged. “Anonymous benefactor. That’s all the lawyer told me in L.A.” March mumbled the last bit as her eyes glimpsed over the menu. Things were slowly starting to become uncomfortable again.

“You from L.A?” Ruby gushed excitedly.  “That is so exciting.”

“Yeah, on and off for the last five years, when I made the trek across the pond. I do a lot of travelling, but L.A has always been my kind of homebase.”

Ruby wanted to ask more questions, but an older woman with white hair and thick round glasses hollered for her to get back to work.   Instead, she gave March a friendly smile, and welcomed her to Storybrooke.

Henry looked up at March with his greenish brown eyes.  “So you’re _really_ not from here, are you?”

“Who’s not from here?” A stern looking young woman, also around March’s age, with long blonde hair the colour of pale gold, and the same hazel eyes as Henry, asked.    She was clearly Henry’s mother.  They had such similar features it was almost unnerving, everything except the hair.  The little boy clearly inherited his father’s hair.

“Your son is referring to me, I’m afraid.  I’m about as ‘not from here’ as they come,” March turned to face the blonde.  “Hi, the name is March.”

“Sheriff Emma Swan.” The woman nodded at her before removing her coat.  “What accent is that?  London?” Emma asked scooting in the booth next to Henry.

“Your ears are most perceptive, Ms. Swan.” March took a sip of water, impressed.  “That or you've watched too much BBC on the telly,” she chuckled musically to herself.

“Alright, so you’re a Brit.” Emma shrugged, “I've heard crazier,” sharing a knowing look with her son.

“Not quite,” March tittered watching the two of them. “Don’t let the accent fool you,” her eyes flashed under the draining fluorescent lights. “I was born in Germany.  Moved to London, with my mum, when I was six; until then I lived in Köln.”

“You?” Emma scoffed. “No way.  You don’t look, or sound, German.  Besides, shouldn’t your name be Heidi or something?”

Rolling her eyes, March sighed. “ Okay, first of all, Heidi is Swiss – not German. Yes, there is a difference. And believe it or not there are brunettes in Germany, red heads too.  But if you don’t believe me,” She muttered digging something out of her bag.  Opening a large plastic zip lock bag with several official documents she pulled out a small wrinkled piece of paper.

“Read it and weep.” She chuckled, sliding the copy of her birth certificate over on the table for Emma and Henry to see.

“Ah-chen?”  Henry stumbled over the pronunciation of the city written on the document while Emma tried moving her lips silent and clumsily over the word.

“ _Aachen_ ” March corrected.

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” Emma gave a disinterested nod. All she knew about German was that it wasn't quite the same romantic sounding language as French or Italian; it involved sounding like you were choking, and constantly angry. “So how do you know my kid?” She asked changing the topic.

“I’m not a pedophile, I swear,” March blurted quickly before covering her mouth in horror that she may have just planted the idea in an otherwise unsuspecting mind.  “Not that you thought I was one, until now. Now you probably think I am. But I’m not.  I’m just awkward, and babbling now. Oh God, am I babbling? I don’t mean to. I hate it when I babble. I get flustered easily when s. . . Oh God, people are staring now . . . why are they staring? I hate it when they stare . . . I should go. This has been enough socializing for now I think.  I think I’ll just get take out.  Lovely meeting you, you too Henry.”

Emma caught her arm before she could slide out of the booth.“Whoa, whoa, calm down there. Have you ever thought of trying decaf?” She chuckled, “I meant, how did you two meet?”

March tried to relax but remained tense under her touch.  “I don't drink coffee,” she replied, not entirely sure how to take the insinuation.

The average person consumed coffee in attempt to stimulate their mind and body, usually in the morning, and in effect boost energy.  March didn’t need stimulation; her mind was busy enough without the added caffeine, besides caffeine often triggered her headaches.  Then again, everything triggered her headaches.

“For obvious reasons,” she added after a moment’s contemplation.  Then she headed straight into recounting the story of running unto Henry on the street, and him leading her to the diner.

Ruby returned a minute later to take their orders and disappeared again just as quickly to avoid incurring the wrath of her grandmother. 

The three of them chatted away amiably while they waited for their food.  Emma gave March some pointers about the town having moved there a few months prior, she also gave March a few contacts to try out after March told them a bit about her plans with the store she'd been left. In return March regaled them with stories of her adventures over the last few years after she decided she had enough of London life.

“Alright, we should get you back before your mom rips me a new one – again,” Emma informed Henry.

“I thought you were his mother.” March looked from Henry to Emma.  They had the same eyes, same nose, same cheekbones, and similar quirks. There was no way he couldn’t be her kid.

“I'm talking about his other mom,” Emma explained standing.  “You'll meet her and all her glory eventually I'm sure.  Nothing happens in this town she doesn't know about, she is the mayor after all.”

March looked from Emma to Henry in confusion before the notion dawned on her. “Oh.  Wow, good for you two.  I think it is absolutely brilliant that you and your partner decided to raise a child with the both of you balancing such strong, empowering careers in typically male driven fields.  It really goes to show that a gay couple can be every bit as great of parents as a straight couple, and still be pillars in their community.”

“Whoa, hang on a second,” Emma raised her hands to prevent March from going any further.  “His mom is not my partner.  We’re not involved- unless you count her trying to run me out of town every chance she gets as involved.” 

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“I gave Henry up for adoption when I was seventeen,” explained Emma with a pained expression.  The look behind her hazel eyes reflected the deep regret she felt about that decision now.

“And she adopted him,” March finished rubbing her face with her hands.  “Seven hells.  I feel like a royal ass.  I am so sorry I just-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma shrugged off her apology.  “You’re probably not the first to think it after hearing it.” 

 _Just the first idiot to say it aloud,_ March sighed to herself; she needed a cup of tea, now.  Something strong, like a black tea or maybe green, but still sweet to create a balance without having to involve sweetener or milk. Perhaps she’d make a pot of blend seventeen when she got back to her shop; black tea with leaves from china, peaches imported from South Georgia, and vanilla yogurt chips.

What coffee was to most people, tea was to March.  The hearty, rich aroma of that first cup in the morning before the day has a chance to start when there was still some degree of promise for the events to follow that everything might just be okay.  Every day held new possibilities, and every cup further nurtured that promise. For the last several years this was how March lived her life, day by day, cup by cup.  It was working well for her, but over the years she became in sync with the way the winds were blowing, and the winds of change were strong.  She knew that her old ways of life could not endure, people had to adapt and evolve when the winds changed. Her twenties were a time for adventure and going where the wind took her, but now that she was nearly in her thirties it was time for her to settle and establish roots somewhere with her own design for life.

“I should probably be going too,” announced March, sliding out of the booth.  There was still a million and a half things she needed to do if she wanted to get the store up off the ground.

“We'll walk with you,” Henry offered, throwing his coat on.  His offer took both March and Emma by surprise but nodding in agreement they stepped out the front door.

“Emma? Henry?” A delicate female voice called out after them. 

Despite not being one of the names called, March turned around as well to face a short, slender, young woman, who also appeared to be around their age.  Her thick dark hair was cropped in a short pixie cut that March could never pull off – her ears were too big to pull off something so short.

“Who’s your friend?” asked the woman, referring naturally to March, getting closer while the three of them waited for her to approach. 

“March meet Mary Margaret Blanchard - Henry’s teacher,” explained Emma while introducing the two women. “Mary Margaret this is March H-something . . . she’s new to town.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mary Margaret stuck out her hand for March to shake.

“Likewise,” replied March with a large grin as she attempted the stifle the laughter she’d been battling since she heard the woman’s name.

“What’s so funny?” The two women exchanged curious glances for the cause for March’s sudden outburst.

“Nothing,” March chuckled again, trying to contain herself.  “Honest, just ignore me,” she added between fits of giggles her crazy eyes flashing.

‘Crazy eyes’ was the name her mother used for her when March began laughing really hard.   Her blue eyes went a strangely light shade, looking almost crystal clear, and they grew about twice their natural size – giving her an air of insanity.   That coupled with the way her mind worked, well most people thought might actually be a hint of mental instability to March’s personality. Sometimes she really hated her mind, and the way it worked.  She wasn’t crazy – she just saw things . . . differently.  Unfortunately most people saw being different as being a bad thing.

“I just thought of something funny someone told me,” she tried desperately to cover.  _Okay, I really need to get out of here now_ she thought, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of her shirt.  Bidding everyone good bye, and reiterating how lovely it was to meet them all, March turned to walk away when a crippling pain shot from the front of her head, causing her to gasp in pain.

“Oh my god,” and Mary Margaret gasping behind her, were the last things she heard before the pain became too much and she dropped to the ground, groaning and panting.

Taking a few deep breaths, March dragged her fingers along the sidewalk, balling her hands into fists where she had planted them to stabilize herself, scrapping the skin on her knuckles against the concrete.  _You have got to be kidding me!_ She growled to herself.  It had been weeks since she’d had a full blown episode.

“Go get Dr. Whale – I just saw him in Granny’s.  I’ll go get Archie. “ Emma instructed leaving Henry to watch over March.

She tried to tell them it really wasn’t necessary – it wasn’t like there was anything anyone could do for her anyways.  She’d been having theses headaches since she was a toddler; in the process she had every test in the book, and the always found nothing, which was exactly what they could do about it.  Nothing. All she could do was sit and wait for the blinding pain shooting through her head to stop – it usually only took a couple minutes.  The longest episode she had was a few years ago before she left London, and it was ten whole minutes of writhing, agonizing pain on the tube to her flat from the estate.

Turning so she at least sat on the curb, March looked over at Henry while she massaged her temples. “So, you want to tell me why, or better yet how, it is that I just had my lunch brought to me by little red riding hood at her grandmother’s restaurant, and,” pointing in Mary Margaret’s direction, “that’s Snow White is running to get a doctor?”

Henry stared back at her –shocked. “You know?” He breathed, wide eyed.

“Know?” March grimaced as a new wave of anguish coursed through her head.  “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything – that’s why I’m asking.”

Sitting on the curb beside her, Henry put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting pat.  His lips twitched, like he wanted to say something important to her but the sound of heavy foot steps running towards them halted them. Instead he sat contemplative for a second before saying, “ I can’t say anything right now – can I meet you at your store around eight?  I’ll sneak out after supper.”

March looked sideways at the kid as the clouds started to lift around her head.  The pain was subsiding.  Finally.  Who the hell was this kid? Double-oh-seven?  Not sure what else to say she nodded, “yeah, that works. It’s just up the street on the corner,” she whispered to him, pointing in the direction of her place.

“Great.  I’ll see you at eight!” Henry whispered back before getting up so the man following Mary Margaret could take a look at March.

“Well, hello there,” he knelt down in front of her to take a look.  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” the handsome young doctor offered her a flash of his most charming smile.  “The name is Dr. Whale – they tell me you had a little accident.”  He opened up his bag, digging out a penlight.

Rolling her eyes March forced a smile in return.  “March,” she gave up her name begrudgingly.  “And I’m not some five year old playing with scissors.  I just had a headache.  I’ve had them since I was a child.”

“Well, still I’d feel better if _I checked you out_.  Headaches don’t usually send you to the ground, writhing in pain.”

 _Mine do._ Sighing, March conceded, and allowed the Doctor conduct his check up. He checked her for concussion, ran through the signs and symptoms for chronic migraines.  Every damn time she had one of her headaches in a new place she had to go through this same old song and dance. 

Dr. Whale was just finishing up when Emma arrived with a red haired man with round glasses, finally, someone in town who was actually noticeably older than March.  She was starting to think that adage about small towns being for the newly wed and nearly dead being full of dragon dung.  So far Storybrooke appeared more like a safe haven for runway models on the lam from the paparazzi than an actual town.

“Is this her?” He asked looking to Emma and Mary Margaret who stood off to the side with Henry, before looking down to March.

“This is her,” March answered for them.  “At least I’m assuming I’m the her in question.  The name is March.” She smiled looking up at the strange man.

“I’m Dr. Hopper, but everyone calls me Archie.  My office is just up the street,” he pointed to the therapist’s office March noticed earlier.

They got her a therapist? She groaned.  Between Dr. Flirt, James Bond Jr and the therapist, March was starting to wish she never left her store this afternoon. There was definitely something strange about this place.  Hopefully her meeting with Henry later tonight would clear a few things up, he seemed to understand what she was talking about either he knew something, or he saw what she did – either way there was some small degree of comfort there.

“Listen,” she announced, standing up from the curb, dusting the dirt from her jeans.  “Thank you all very much for your concern, but I don’t need a doctor, or a shrink,” she looked at each man respectively. “I’m fine.  I’ve been getting these since I was a kid, all I need to do is take some deep yoga breaths wait it out.”  Looking at Dr. Whale she continued to address the group, “there is nothing you can do.  I’ve had every test in the book, MRI, full body CT scan- you name it, and every time they find nothing.  I know you doctors have fragile egos, and it must be aggravating to no end to have something you can’t diagnose or treat, so you just prescribe tests and pills, but they don’t work. Nothing works.  I should be getting back to my shop.  Sorry.” 

She offered them a sincere apologetic look as she removed her scarf and shirt. With so many gazes on her at once she was sweating buckets despite being in the strange transitional period between winter and spring where no sane man or woman would be walking around in a tank top. 

“Holy inkage Batman,” Emma whistled taking a look at the tattoo peaking out of the back of March’s tank top.

Turning back to face them she unintentionally gave them a full view of the numerous tattoos on the front of her body as well.     

“How many of those things do you have?” gasped Emma, wide eyed, taking them all in. She hadn’t seen someone covered in so much ink since she left Boston. After spending so many months in Storybrooke, amongst wholesome folk like Mary Margaret and David, she’d almost forgotten that tattoos were all the rage right now.

Pausing, March mentally took inventory, counting on her fingers just how many tattoos she’d acquired over the years.  She had the tree of Gondor tattooed in the centre of her back, the words Lumos on her left wrist, and Nox on the inside of her right wrist, “not all those who wander are lost,” along her left bicep, a teapot on her hip, a tribal moon on her right ankle, The Mumford and Sons’ lyrics “give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light” on her ribs, ‘Much Ado About Nothing I. III. 29,’ on the inside of her right forearm alluded to one of her favourite quotes by Shakespeare – let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me.Her last tattoo, which she’d gotten three years ago, was the ancient Norse rune for journey behind her right ear.

“Nine,” replied March nodding, after double counting to make sure she hadn’t missed any.  She quickly stopped nodding after catching the somewhat disapproving glances exchanged between the two women and Archie. The only one not casting judgment on her was Whale, and that was because he was too busy sizing the rest of her up.  Wondering if the rest of her body was worth the tattoos and visible piercings in her ears or she was simply too ‘damaged’ to be dating material.

“Nine, wow” Mary Margaret’s eyes shot up in surprise.  “That’s a lot.” As soon as the words left her mouth she realized just how catty and judgmental it sounded.  Horror filled her sweet doe like expression as she looked to the others, hoping for some support. 

She didn’t have to say the words for March to know what she truly meant by ‘that’s a lot.’  There was a certain stigma still surrounding people who were well inked like March.  Prior to the 1980’s the only people who were inked were convicts, thugs, bikers, gang members, generally people who were bad news.  After the 1980’s attitudes began to change and more and more ‘regular’ people began to get tattoos.  That however did not mean the stigma surrounding those with more than just the basic lower back or tribal armband tattoos were so easily washed away.  When she said ‘that’s a lot’ she was really saying ‘good luck finding a date or a job for that matter – no one respectable will want or have you.’ 

“Not really,” replied March, point blank.  Sadly, this kind of reaction was still the norm, but on the bright side, it meant she had plenty of experience in dealing with it.  “Now if you’ll excuse me I really should be getting back to my shop.”   Giving them all a polite nod, and a secretive wink at Henry, she walked down the road without a second thought.

“March,” Mary Margaret called, jogging after her softly in her heeled ankle boots.  She caught up to March quickly as she stood and waited for the schoolteacher to approach.  “Look, I didn’t mean any offense,” she explained quickly once she was close enough. “It’s just that,” she looked up at March with her china doll like eyes, “we’ve never seen anyone like you before, I mean this is a small town everyone knows everyone and . . . “ 

“I stand out,” March finished for her.  Chewing the inside of her cheek March looked to the woman standing before her and the small cluster behind them.

“I think it’s great though,” replied the schoolteacher honestly.  “That you’re not afraid to stand out.  Welcome to Storybrooke.” She smiled before turning and doing one of those dainty little skipping runs back to rejoin the others. 

Looking at the group, and the town surrounding her, March smiled a small smile to herself. _Welcome indeed,_ she thought, jamming her hands in her jean pockets before turning back towards her shop.  If she had thought for even one second that she was heading for a life of boredom by trading L.A for Storybrooke she was dead wrong. 


	3. Tea, Truths, and Wooden Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry introduces March to another one of Storybrooke's infamous residents, one who might be able to help give her some of the answers she's been looking for.

By the time March finished cleaning up and getting what she could done for the day, the street lamps had already been on for a good twenty minutes. She figured if she kept working at this pace she would be ready for opening in less than a month. She cleared out the small sitting area she planned on creating so people could sit and enjoy a cup if they wanted, maybe read a book or enjoy some light conversation. She just finished her final sweep when there was a slight tapping at the door.

Looking up, she pulled the headphones out of her ears when she saw Henry standing at the door with a strange man. Pulling the ipod from her pockets she set them on the marble counter top before walking over to unlock the door.

"Henry," she greeted the kid with a smile. "Who's your friend?" She looked up to the man with his warm blue eyes.

"This is August," explained Henry, wriggling past the two adults to walk into the store. "So what is this place going to be?" He asked looking around at the vast space.

"This is my tea shop... well, it's going to be," March explained shutting the door behind August, locking it again. Sitting on the counter next to where she placed her ipod she took a quick sip of tea from her travel mug. "So are you planning on- Bloody Hell!" she gasped, choking on her tea. "What's wrong with your leg?" She looked on in horror as she saw the small gap between August's pant leg and sock was made of polished wood, and not the kind used for prosthetics.

August stopped where he stood giving her a look that was somewhere between skeptical and impressed. "You can see it?" He asked slowly. His eyes clouded by scepticism, not trusting to believe anything until he heard it come from her own mouth.

"You can't?" March retorted in a shrill voice, shocked by his question. The way he tensed but let his shoulders sag told March immediately that this was not a prosthetic leg. Something was most definitely off.

"I told you she was different," grinned Henry, with the same swelling pride an owner might have when their pup fetches a stick for the first time.

"Can someone please just tell me what is going on? Because the longer I wait the longer I'm left alone with my imagination, and I can personally promise that is not something you want.," she pleaded looking from one face to the other. Patience had never been one of her strong suits. She had been one of those kids who grew up eating the batter because she could not be bothered to actually sit and wait for her easy bake oven to bake the ruddy brownies.

Henry and August exchanged careful glances before looking in March's direction. While Henry was more than eager to share the secrets of the town with this outsider, August on the other hands still had his reservations. "I'll take this one," announced Henry. Looking March dead in the eyes with his most serious, straight face Henry said, "Storybrooke isn't what it seems."

Eyes darting left and right, looking from August to Henry, March leaned forward on the counter, her legs swinging side to side. "And?" she demanded impatiently. If that was their great reveal, it wasn't all that great. Snape revealing that he was in fact the half-blood prince, and that he had been the one protecting Harry out the love he still bore for Lily – now that was a great reveal. This was more along the lines of Harry finding out that Hagrid was innocent in the Chamber of Secrets – who actually thought that he could hurt anyone? He made friends with a giant misunderstood spider for Faulkner's sake.

"Everyone who lives here is cursed," explained Henry slowly, waiting to gauge her reaction. When he noticed her look intently at him without so much as a bat of her eyelash while waiting for him to continue he knew it was safe to do so. "They're all fairy tale characters from a place called the Enchanted forest. That's where the evil queen cast the curse, and brought everyone to our world, and now they can't remember who they really are. Except for my mom, Emma is the savoir – she's the daughter if Snow White and Prince Charming. Only she can break the curse."

"Henry says you can see who people really are," said August softly, after a moment's silence while March still digested what she just heard.

"Not quite," she explained looking up. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but I don't have some kind of super power that can see through the curse."

"What?" Henry demanded, slightly crestfallen. "But you knew about Mary Margaret, and Ruby!"

"Something just felt off from the moment I met Ruby. Then when Mary Margaret introduced herself, it all just clicked."

"What do you mean?" probed August curiously.

"Margaret is derived from the Latin meaning pearl – which like snow is often used as a symbol for purity. Blanchard come from the French word blanche, which means white. Her name is literally Mary Pearl White. Not to mention you can't help but hear Mary and think Mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as Snow – doesn't take a genius to put the two together." March shrugged. "After that It didn't take much to figure out that Ruby was little red riding hood – fascination with wolves, love of red, works for her granny bringing food – again, not exactly rocket science."

"She's good," August nodded in approval. "So you're saying you believe us about the curse?" He asked, looking over to March. Leaning against the counter he studied her. There was something, he didn't quite know what, but there was something about her.

"Yes." She answered immediately, without a second's hesitation. "If I have learned one thing, it's that there is no such thing as coincidence. Two people named for Fairy Tale characters in a place called Storybrooke – that's just too strange – there's got to be something going on. And if you see through the same veil I am, and you say it's a curse . . . then I'm inclined to believe you."

"August has been helping me and Emma with a plan to break the curse, called Operation COBRA," explained Henry, digging something out of his bag. "You see everyone here is in this book." He slid the book over to March.

Grabbing the book she flicked her eyes over the embossed cover. "Once Upon a Time," she read quietly to herself. It was a giant book of Fairytales, closely resembling the one she had upstairs gifted to her by the English department when she graduated Uni.

"The only problem is that no one believes us," August added gravely. "We're at our wits end on trying to make Emma believe. The curse is never going to break until we get Emma to believe, truly believe."

"I thought you said she was part of this Operation COBRA." March looked up from one of the stories in the book to look at either one of the blokes in front of her.

"She is," August explained. Up until a few months ago Emma had nothing to do with Henry, and Storybrooke. She was just a bonds woman in Boston. That was until Henry took a bus up there to bring her back to Storybrooke to realize her destiny, and save the town. After watching the way Henry and his adopted mother interacted, she decided to stay and keep an eye on him. Operation COBRA was her way of spending time with Henry, and she was only pretending to believe in the curse to humour him.

"I was brought over with Emma from the Enchanted Forest in a magic wardrobe that left us untouched by the curse," August explained.

"Like Narnia?" March looked up hopefully, the tone of her voice may have screamed skeptical but the look in her eyes begged for there to be some truth in what August just told her. The more she listened to Henry and August talk, the more she was intrigued if not down right excited. Twenty-eight years of life and finally there was something interesting going on.

"Yeah, sure," August nodded quickly, figuring it was just easier to agree. Picking up one of the small china cups out of the boxes sitting on the counter he examined the intricate designs in the china as he spoke. "Anyways, I'm her guardian – I have to help her realize her destiny before it's too late. I failed her early in life, and for that I'm being punished. I'm slowly turning back to wood," he admitted while rolling up his pant leg to reveal just how far it had travelled in the relatively short time Emma had been in Storybrooke.

"You're Pinocchio," chuckled March in delight, now that she figured out who he was. Funny. His name had nothing to do with his character. Then again what was she expecting Pinocchio to be called – Woody? She'd have to keep that in mind as she met more people in town. Not all of them would be as easy to figure out at Mary Margaret and Ruby. She relished the challenge. Finally, after years and years of living life hoping for some other world, settling for the world she set up in her imagination instead, there was something genuinely interesting to do in this otherwise dull and mundane life.

"Very good," August smiled approvingly, like a teacher praising a particularly quick and gifted student. "That's right, I am Pinocchio. And you, well you're an anomaly."

"Because I could enter the town – I have to belong here," she recalled Henry's first words, only now she actually understood what they really meant. He wasn't just being a strange, yet friendly, kid – he was referring to the curse, but in a round about way so he wouldn't come off as crazy to her not knowing how much she knew. Oh that was clever. She liked clever. No one from the outside world could enter Storybrooke, and no one from Storybrooke could leave without disaster striking, and yet here she was. So what did that make her?

"Yet, you have a life out of this place – and you can recall that life with genuine memories and people who know you – documents, everything," August continued, trying to puzzle it out for himself aloud. "So how is it you managed to find this place without issue?" He posed the question to the room in general.

"Well I wouldn't say without issue," March disagreed, recalling the abuse she yelled at her phone, and the three copies of "Maps of Maine" still sitting in her parked car. "It was honestly dumb luck that I even found the sign. You guys are well hidden here, not even Google Maps could find you."

"But that's just it," August argued closing the gap between them by striding towards her. "You saw a sign that said Storybrooke. Outsiders can't – so why did you? What links you to this place?" he pondered. There had to be something, something they just didn't know about yet.

"Well the answer to that is simple," replied March after a moment's contemplation. She paused, waiting as August and Henry stared back at her. How on earth could the answer be simple? There was nothing simple about this place.

"It all comes down to whoever left me the store. They must know something about me, or my family, that I . . . I mean we, don't. We figure out who left me this place we solve that puzzle." She shrugged. Seemed simple enough, rather reminiscent of her time at Uni actually – pouring over old documents and dense texts. The very thought sent a dull ache of nostalgia through her system. Those were the days. Of course it wasn't like she had bundles of time to go poking around old estates and sifting through private legal documents at the moment. Her first priority was getting the store off the ground. Once she had the store running, then maybe she could help Henry and August.

"So, will you help us?" Henry pleaded from where he sat on the counter. At this point with the way things were developing, they could use all the help they could get.

Looking at his eager face she looked over to August. Staring back at her, he leaned back on his heels, folding his arms across his chest, waiting expectantly for an answer. Just what answer he was expecting, March didn't know. Was he counting on her helping or be like everyone else and stick her head in the sand and ignore the curse.

Sighing, she looked back at Henry. "I'm in. Just give me some time. I need to get the store ready. Once I have that going, I'll look into helping anyway I can. Deal?" She looked from child to man.

"Deal!" Henry agreed extending his hand to shake.

Taking his hand March agreed. "Alright. I'll send some kind of code or message once I'm ready to get my hands dirty. Until then you two will just have to hold the fort down."

August said nothing on the matter, and after realizing that their secret little meeting had already taken an hour Henry had to leave before his adopted mum began to grow suspicious of August and March. "She already has it out for Emma. I can't let her hurt you guys too," he explained throwing his coat on.

Both March and August offered to walk the kid home, worrying about him being on the streets by himself so late at night.

"I'll be fine," Henry assured them. "Besides, if my mom does catch me, it's better neither of you fly onto her radar – especially you March."

"Me? Why me?" She asked looking form one to the other, confused. What had she done?

"You're new, and you believe; my mom isn't going to like that. The longer you can go undetected the safer you are. She's the evil Queen after all. Evil always tries to defeat good – always." He warned before darting out the front door.

August watched him run down the block from the large widows along the Eastern wall of the store. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said gravely without taking his eyes off of Henry. "You don't have to help us. This isn't your fight."

March stopped where she stood by the door. "I know," she replied quietly.

"So then why are you so willing to help us? It's not very characteristic of your world, going out of your way to help others, especially when those people are talking about evil queens and curses." He turned to face her, studying her with cunning blue eyes – she had a feeling he didn't miss much, not with eyes like those.

"I told you. I see the world a little differently than most people, sometimes it's a good thing, other times it causes a fair bit of trouble. But I've learned to rely on my instincts and follow my gut, honestly – it hasn't led me astray. It's even saved my life a few times. Tonight my gut is telling me that you guys need my help, so in any way that I can, I'll help."

"When you say you see the world differently . . ." August began asking.

"Mum always said I had a wild and fantastic imagination, and it's led me into believing many things, including that there is a sleepy little town in Maine that is under the curse of an evil Queen which only a non-believing Saviour can rescue." She smiled warmly in August's direction. "Does that answer your question Mr. Booth?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, awkwardly jamming his fists in the pockets of his leather motorcycle jacket. "Yeah, that about answers it."

"By the way," she called as he moved towards the door. "I love your name – very fitting for a writer," she flashed a sincere grin, coupled with a wry, knowing look.

His hand hovered over the door handle, hesitating. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly, turning to look back at her cautiously over his shoulder. He wasn't challenging her, or feeling particularly defensive, just curious.

"August – Latin from Augustus meaning great or venerable, and Wayne Booth – the famous literary critic behind the concept of the unreliable narrator – all together you name basically boils down to the 'great literary critic' it's quite clever. Did you always want to be a writer? Or did you become one as means of growing into your name?"

"I'll give you the Augustus part," he replied turning around to face her. "But how did you know about Wayne Booth?"

"You think you're the only writer in Storybrooke?" March posed the question with a mystical twinkle. "I loved your last novel by the way – I found it to be incredibly thought provoking, and wonderfully insightful into small town psyche, though it was a bit heavy handed with symbolism particularly at the end. And before you ask – we go through the same publishing company. Tony sent me a copy of your book to review a couple years ago."

"You're a writer as well?" asked August, surprised by the revelation. Despite being in the business he hadn't actually come across too many published writers so far, especially in Storybrooke.

"I told you," she said with a smile, "I have a wild and fantastic imagination. Not the sort of thing that is easily contained, especially in this world."

Leaning against the door, an amused smile brought out a certain spark in his eyes. "Would I have read anything you wrote?"

"Perhaps," she nodded, grabbing the broom from behind the counter. "I tend to publish under a pseudonym."

"What's the name?" He asked, casually trying to mask the eagerness in his tone of voice. "You've piqued my curiosity."

"Think about what we discussed tonight," she murmured playfully always eager to pose a new challenge, "when you see my books – you'll know it's me." She hated it when people read her books knowing who wrote them.

The point of the pseudonym was to generate a sense of anonymity between her and the books in attempts to gain people's honest reactions – she got the idea from the titular character whilst reading Shakespeare's Henry V – the part when he dressed as a commoner and wandered his soldier's camps trying to hear honest opinions about himself. Call it ego, but she liked hearing the critical feedback – if it was good then she kept in mind for the next book, and if it was rubbish then she simply thought,  _you have no idea it's actually me and I have a book published and you don't- so ha!_

August smiled down at the ground. "Fair enough," he conceded, ready to rise to the challenge. Perhaps this would be at least one puzzle he could solve. "Well, I should be heading back to my room. Thanks, by the way."

"For what?" asked March, tightening her grip on the broom handle.

"For believing us," replied August with a sad smile, the kind belonging to a man who had been bereft of hope for far too long. "You have no idea how much of a relief it is to know that there are others out there who are open to the idea of believing." Without another word he slipped out the front door out into the night, leaving March standing alone in her store, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. Here not even a full day and she'd somehow managed to stumble across trouble.

Resting the broom against the far wall, March locked the doors and turned off the lights before taking the back stairs to her flat. Once inside she locked the doors and turned the lights on revealing the dusty mess of clutter that was her flat. Letting Percival out of his cage she set him on the ground of her living room. She preferred to let him wander free when she was at home rather than keeping him cooped up in a cage.

"Oh boy, Percy," she sighed, filling her kettle with cold water. "You are not going to believe what I'm about to tell you."


	4. Eyeliner and Fake Orgasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claritea is finally open, and March meets Storybrookes most eccentric resident, aside from herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! Just be warned this chapter alludes to past self-harm (mention of scars), depression, and previous attempted suicide (nothing in detail but it is mentioned!)

For a place where all passage of time had been stopped it must have reset itself to zoom in order to make amends up for the last twenty-eight years. In a blink three weeks passed since the night with the secret meeting to discuss Operation COBRA, and March couldn't have been busier during that time. She met a couple more of the colourful locals. Most notable being David Nolan, the married man with whom Mary Margaret had an affair with, before his wife went missing and was presumed murdered by the mistress, but was in fact abducted by the newspaper editor; according to sources he was under the Queen's orders, but no one could prove a thing.

As Ruby told March the story, she had to sing 'God Save the Queen' backwards in her head to keep herself from laughing. The whole thing sounded almost identical to the plot of her first novel, 'Winter's Blood.' In which an innocent woman was sent to death row for the murder of her boyfriend's wife, and it's only with the help of a journalist conducting death bed interview that the woman is cleared in the nick of time when the journalist discovers that the wife was kidnapped by the judge who passed the sentence, hell bent on ruining the woman for causing the death of her lover years earlier.

It was obvious David was the Prince Charming to Mary Margaret's Snow White; they just didn't know it yet. Then there was Granny herself who owned the diner, Leroy the town crank – three guesses which of the dwarves he might be, despite being normal size. According to Henry just because he was a dwarf didn't mean he was actually short, it was actually a race. Marco, also known as Gapetto, the town handy man, came by during her second week in Storybrooke to take a look at her hot water tank, which still wasn't working.

During the brief time since her arrival, March made tremendous progress in getting to know the town and its people she hadn't met everyone quite yet. There was still the cryptic yet powerful Mr. Gold, and of course, mayor Mills. While March found meeting new people to be about as much fun as finding gum stuck in her hair, she worked tirelessly to get the shop running.

Tonight, everyone she had met to date was gathered in her store, celebrating the first week of 'Claritea's' grand opening. The gathering had been Ruby's idea. She and March hit it off immediately, and was the closest thing March had to a girlfriend for the first time in her life. Fascinated by her stories of adventure and life in the big city, Ruby often stopped by the shop after she finished at the dinner to sit and talk. Though she wasn't particularly fond of tea, she would bring her own coffee from the dinner, and sit while March worked. It was nice; she didn't even seem to mind when March started laughing for no apparent reason.

Henry often stopped by the store as well on his way home after school. Even though she was too busy to be helping with the developments of Operations COBRA for the time being, he liked keeping her to date, filling her in on their adventures while she sat seething with envy. While she was stuck trying to get her distributors to trust that her address was correct, and that a town called Storybrooke did in fact exist; and ship to the bloody town, Henry and Emma were having grand adventures.

With shaking hands March waited for the last person to walk out the door, smile plastered on her face as she bid them good night. Once the store was empty save for herself she dimmed the lights from behind the counter while soothing music played over the speakers, before sliding down onto the ground. Wrapping her knees up close to her chest she tried taking deep breaths – just like how the therapist taught her.

Scrunching her eyes shut she tried hard to remind herself of where she was, that it was only a memory, no one could hurt her. There was no reason to feel so anxious. She just had a lovely night with some new friends. He was far away. He had no idea where she was.  _Inhale …5 …4 … 3 … 2 …1… exhale,_  she instructed.  _He's just a man. That's all,_ she reminded with each and every breath. Repeating the action a few more times, she could feel her heart rate slowly return to normal, and the shaking in her hands calm.

She was just about calm when the bells attached to the front door jingled. "Hello? Are you still open?" An unfamiliar man's voice asked, near the front of the store.

"Just a second," she called out from behind the counter. Hugging her knees tighter towards her chest she took a couple quick, deep breaths before getting back to her feet.

"Sorry, I was hoping to catch you before you closed for the night," the man explained, fidgeting with his hands in the pockets of his long navy blue peacoat.

March didn't hear a word he'd said. From the moment her eyes caught his she had been unable to tear them away from his face. She noticed a few things about him, like the way he was dressed for example. His style was reminiscent of what one might see in the Victorian era, and clashed violently with the plaid flannel, and sheep skin lined corduroy jacket vibe she got from the other men in town. Like the other men around her age, he was handsome but there was something different about him – she just couldn't put her finger on it yet.

"You're not closed are you?" he asked hopefully, offering her an awkwardly polite, meant to be charming smile.

Nothing.

The smile quickly faded from his face, he stared back at March, before looking behind him, wondering what she might be looking at. Perplexed, he turned around to face her again. "What?" he asked, genuinely confused and slightly concerned. That didn't stop him from offering a small, awkward half chuckle.

Realizing a little too late that she was staring, March quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," she apologized. "It's just that… I've never actually seen a man wear eyeliner – in real life that is. I've seen it plenty in movies and bands on TV."

Casting his eyes to the ground, he emitted the same awkward half chuckle as before as he grinned at the floor. It was the kind of smile you save for when you don't know what else to do.

"Don't get me wrong," she added quickly, "you pull it off quite well actually – it kind of compliments that whole dark Victorian vibe you have going on, like if you mixed Mr. Darcy and Fall out Boy. Is that still a thing by the way?" asked March pointing to the cravat wrapped tightly around his neck. "I thought that style died out after the sinking of the Titanic."

"I guess I'm just an old fashioned kind of guy," replied the man with a slow bob of his head.

"I suppose you are," she agreed with an uncomfortable smile. Studying the subtle features of his face once more she hesitated before turning around where she stood behind the counter. Reaching up on the wooden shelves behind her, she pulled down two of her largest teacups, setting them gently down on the back counter before putting the kettle on.

"So you want to talk about what's troubling you? Or did you want to wait until the tea is ready?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?" Wondered the man with a curious yet intrigued look. "All I've done is smile, and ask if you were closed."

"Yeah – but smiles are one of the easiest things in the world to fake, well those, and orgasms. Honestly, why a woman would bother wasting her time faking an orgasm is beyond reason. I mean doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose? It's funny though, when you think about it, how the two things that should never be faked are in fact the easiest things to fake – it absolutely boggles the mind."

Her face immediately fell.

"Oh, son of a snitch, I'm rambling, again, about orgasms." Burying her face in her hands in disbelief, she groaned. "I can't believe I have been babbling on for the last five minutes about faking orgasms to a man whose name I don't even know." Peeking through her fingers at him she thought she saw the trace of a genuine smile hidden behind his eyes. "You'd think I'd be mortified at this point – but sadly I do this kind of thing all the time. You get use to it after a while, becomes more annoying than anything."

"You do what all the time?" he inquired with a chuckle. "Start talking about orgasms, call someone an emo Mr. Darcy, or neglect to answer their question?"

"Actually I was referring to the embarrassing rambling, but you're right. I haven't actually answered your question, guess I got a bit carried away."

"With orgasms," he added before they both burst out laughing.

"Well if you're going to get carried away with something, should be something big I guess." She shrugged trying to smother a fresh onslaught of giggles. "But to get to your question – it's you're eyes. There's a darkness there that no number of faked smiles can hide. The eyeliner doesn't help, I'm sure," she added awkwardly.

"How very perceptive of you," he mused, cocking his head to the side. "The name is Jefferson," he took a couple steps closer to her before extending his hand in her direction.

"March," she replied accepting the hand. His grip was firm but comfortable, his hands smooth but his fingers were rough. He worked with his hands, but it was something more delicate than blacksmithing or carpentry.

"March?" he repeated the word skeptically, giving her an equally doubtful look. "That's an unusual name."

"Nickname… well, was. Changed it a few years ago," she corrected, releasing his hand, neither one of them aware of how long they were locked in the other's grip. It felt natural somehow. Their encounter provided a stark contrast to her experience earlier this evening with the others and their small function in her store. Small, intimate, one – on one encounters, that was what she was comfortable with, not large group functions with dozens of people she hardly knew.

"There must be a story behind the name?" Jefferson wondered as he started looking around the store. Three weeks. That's how long he managed to fight the temptation to come into town and learn more about this mysterious stranger who just drove into town in the middle of the night. That, however, did not stop him from stealing the odd glimpse of her through his telescope. Only, the more he saw, the more curious he grew.

He liked what she'd done with the store so far. It had a comfortable, inviting feel to it. The kind of place you wanted to sit for a while, maybe curl up with a good book, enjoy a hot cup of tea and just watch the world go by. All the shelves were lined with product available for purchase, teas, mugs, all sorts of tea accessories he had barely even heard of before, and of course some antique looking toys for decoration.

"It's an acronym," March explained as the kettle began whistling behind her.

"For?"

"My name. Dunno if my parents had some kind of agenda when they came up with it, or it was just a happy accident that my name spelled out March. I hated it though – my name that is, so when I was about fifteen or so I insisted everyone call me March instead. Changed it legally years later."

"And what is this mysterious full name they gave you, that you hate so much?" wondered Jefferson coming back towards March.

"It's a mouth full," she warned over her shoulder, pouring the hot water in to the teacups.

"I think I can handle it," he assured her. Taking a seat at the counter she had refurbished into a bar.

"It's Madilyn Annelise Rhys Charlotte Hase. The name was Madilyn. The others are just middle names my parents couldn't pick just one, so they just decided to use them all."

"Madilyn is a nice name." Jefferson argued. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, I suppose," she replied with a shrug. "It's just so… dull, and unimaginative. There are so many Madilyns out there, and even more Maddies. Now Jefferson, that is a fantastic name." She paused momentarily looking deep in thought before blurting out excitedly, "peace."

"What?" he stared at her, brows tightly knit together.

"Peace. That's what your name means." As he stared back at her, still lost in utter confusion she sighed.

"Oh, damn I've done it again, okay, let me explain," she said covering her mouth after seeing the confusion on his face. " Jefferson is the English patronymic for son of Geoffrey, introduced to the English speaking world around 1066 after the Norman invasion led by William the conqueror, which in turn means peace. Either way, it's unique and original, hell of a lot better than Madilyn – even with the strange spelling. My mother wanted it with a y. I don't know why, she has a thing for names with Y's. Though I suppose I shouldn't complain, my father wanted to name me Magdalena.

It's German – so is he… so am I actually. Anyways, mum told him that she was not going to have her daughter named after a bible character even if she was a saint – mum's not a fan of religion. So they went with Madilyn – really it's just a variation of the same name, and it means magnificent. Suppose they had high aspirations for me when I was born… whoops. As I said though, there are too many people in the world with that name.

I prefer March, just so happens to be my favourite month. I like spring, the season of rebirth and all that – kind of symbolic really. I mean changing your name in turn changes the person in a way – so I guess it was a conscious rebirth. Ha. I love little coincidences, well actually its more of a subconscious reality than a coincidence but po-tay-toe, po-tah-to.

Did you know that March was the first month in the earliest Roman calendar? It was named after the God of War – Mars. Technically it was called Martius – it's Latin. Mars was the father to Romulus and Remus who founded the city of Rome – you know the two chaps with the she wolf? Anyways, I believe they kept that until 153 BC. Actually a lot of countries still celebrate the New Year in March.

Still, Jefferson is a good name, not too many people out there with that name. That's wonderful, makes you stand out."

"I don't really need any help in that department," he muttered bitterly looking away. "Do you just know all of that, inside your head?" he wondered after a second, looking up in her direction.

"Yeah," she grinned enthusiastically. "I mean I have a thing for names and etymology."

"How do you find time to breathe? I'm exhausted just listening to you," he chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

"You should try being inside my head. Actually a lot people think I'm crazy. I have this horrible habit of getting lost in conversations that aren't even happening. One minute we're talking Norman invasion next thing you know we're talking about the origins of the domestic calendar. All very tedious really, then I start doing this thing where once I start to explain I start to babble, and talk quickly, and people give me strange looks." Popping her head from where she'd been focused on a speck of dirt she cocked her head, " like that," she pointed in his direction enthusiastically. "Anyways, usually means I keep to myself – not that good with people I'm afraid. I just don't really know how to be around others – well actually it's more like they don't know how to be around me. But that's fine. I'm content on my own"

Jefferson could relate. He had a similar relationship with just about everyone in town. It was one of the reasons he stayed away, isolated, in his house up on the hill. Being alone was just easier than dealing with everyone else's judgement.

"Here," she slid a steaming cup in front of him.

"I didn't order anything," he stared down at the cup in front of him blankly.

"I know. It's on the house. Listen, if you don't want to talk that's fine. Sometimes all you need is a really good cuppa. Mum always said that a good cup of tea could solve any problem, and if not . . . add scotch," she pulled out a bottle from behind the counter and set it in front of him.

Jefferson chuckled as he eyed the bottle. "I usually prefer something a little stronger than that," he admitted sliding the bottle back in her direction. The little bottle he used to help 'cure consciousness' remained in his kitchen next to his own tea collection, what was admittedly nowhere as extensive as what the shop owner offered. Though he refused to use it on anyone other than himself – Miss Swan being the obvious exception.

"Arsenic?" asked March with a chuckle.

"I haven't gotten that far yet." Unable to stop himself, he returned the chuckle. He liked this woman. She was as sweet as she was strange, but the two traits balanced each other out nicely.

"And I hope you never do," replied March in all seriousness.

Struck by the kindness in her voice Jefferson looked up from the cup of tea sitting before him to find a pair of blue eyes trained on him and a tiny, sad but hopeful smile on her lips.

"So you want to tell me what you were doing sitting on the floor behind the counter?" he asked quickly, after realizing his gaze lingered on hers a little too long, changing the subject. "With the lights off, I might add."

"Let's just say you're not the only one in need of a good cuppa tonight," she answered with a meagre smile. That wasn't much of an answer. She knew that. Taking a breath she continued, "People make me nervous," she explained. She could feel the anxiety mounting inside her again just thinking about the large group of strangers who'd been in her shop not half an hour earlier. " And groups make me nauseated. I'm fine when it's work, or if it's just one on one, but large groups…" She started stuttering, feeling the mounting anxiety build up at an alarming rate just talking about it. "Sometimes I need a minute to try to calm the storm before it starts."

"Good luck with that," he scoffed, realizing only afterwards how bitter and harsh he came off in that instant. "Sorry," he mumbled. "What I mean is, as I'm sure you've seen by now, this is a very 'group' orientated kind of place. Everyone knows everyone's business. It's one of the reasons I tend to stay away. Most people find me," he paused to find the right word. Crazy was the first one to come to mind, then there was stark raving mad, insane, maybe even unhinged.  _No, none of those will do,_  he needed a word that wouldn't immediately drive her away. Finally, after running through the long list of words in his vocabulary he settled on, "eccentric."

"I wonder why," she remarked sarcastically, looking him over from head to toe. "Listen, I'm not sure how much its worth, if anything, but I happen to like eccentric. Growing up, back home in London, the kids at school use to call me Mad Hase. I'm not by the way… Mad. Not clinically anyways – just quirky. It keeps things interesting, and I happen to be very pro-interesting."

As she rambled, Jefferson stared in amused wonderment, amazed that she managed to find enough time to breath. Lifting his untouched cup of tea he smiled in her direction, "here's to interesting," he said leading her in a toast.

"Here, here," she agreed lifting up her cup in unison. There was a brief pause between March and Jefferson. Nothing was said, as they looked intently at one another holding their cups in a toast. A silent understanding of the other, a proverbial click, came over them. Eyeing the contents in his cup cautiously before taking a sniff, Jefferson inspected the tea before taking a sip. It smelled good, fruity but not overtly sweet. Finally, taking a sip a small involuntary sigh of complete and utter bliss escaped.

"Blend twenty-nine. Black tea with leaves from London, German bergamot oil, blue cornflower petals from France with a hint of French vanilla beans, pieces of candied mango, and pineapple chunks." March narrated the symphony of flavour playing out their masterful sonata on his palate.

"That's astounding," said Jefferson looking most impressed, after taking another sip.

"No. That's just quality," replied March taking a sip from her own cup. A parallel look of calm and total bliss spread across her face as waves of cloves, cinnamon and vanilla washed over her taste buds. "I thought you might like it. It's classic, with a modern twist – quite like you, actually." She added eying the way he was dressed, and then again, because she couldn't help herself, she fixated on the eyeliner. Seriously, Captain Jack Sparrow would have been awed and impressed by his guyliner skills.

"Actually I was talking about you," he admitted setting the giant teacup back on its saucer. "I think it's safe to say that Storybrooke's tea needs rest safe in your hands," he smiled warmly at her.

"Oh," she chuckled. "Yeah, I have a bit of a knack for tea I suppose."

"Then it's a good thing you own a tea shop," he retorted with a cocky grin.

Grinning back in his direction March sat on the back counter, her feet dangling just off the ground. Inviting Jefferson to come round and join her, they sat together in the store talking about whatever topic that came to mind. The more they talked the more they relaxed in each other's presence.

* * *

" I know who you are," she informed him. Climbing back onto the back counter after making a new cup of tea, she smiled before taking another sip.

"And who might that be?" he wondered with a patronizing smirk. He was intrigued however, by what she might say.

"You're the hatter," she replied never taking her eyes off him. "And you remember, don't you? Your life before Storybrooke, back in the Enchanted forest."

"How do you know about that?" asked Jefferson defensively nearly choking on his tea. Her answer took him by surprise, and it wasn't an entirely unpleasant one, but a surprise was a surprise.

"Do you mean about the curse? Or about you?"

"Both." All traces of humour were gone.

"I've known about the curse for a few weeks now. It's not every day you have you lunch served to you by red riding hood, and then run into Snow White. Those kinds of things tend to stand out. Anyways, Henry, the mayor's son, and his friend August told me about it my first day here." March explained. "As for you, well the fondness for tea was a huge tip off, and your hands."

"My hands?" he asked looking down, relieved that she hadn't mentioned his neck. His thoughts drifted momentarily to the scar he kept hidden, suddenly worried that some trace of it might be peaking through his carefully knotted scarf. Out of all the unusual qualities about him she chose to focus on his hands, but why? There was nothing special about his hands.

"When I shook them, they were rough in areas, but that didn't line up with hard labour like smithing or carpentry. They're scars from where you've cut yourself over the years with scissors, and stuck yourself with the needle. Also, the style of clothing you wear, it's highly reminiscent of the Victorian era, a period of time in which hatters were very popular – and in which Lewis Carroll wrote Alice in Wonderland that just so happened to feature a very eccentric hatter, with a penchant for tea."

"Well, you're clever, I'll give you that," Jefferson smiled in her direction, bristling slightly at the mention of Wonderland. "Do you believe them? About the curse?"

"Yes," answered March without hesitation. Setting her cup back down on the counter she pushed herself off. Stepping closer to Jefferson she leaned down against the front counter so she looked him in the eye. "I believe them, and I believe you."

 _Well there's a first_  Jefferson thought, sitting back in disbelief. The funny thing was, he actually believed her when she said she believed him. No one had said that to him, not for a very long time, but she had this look of genuine sincerity painted on her face he was near certain that even if he could scratch the every fleck off it would still be there. This was no mask.

"You don't always need to see something to believe it," shrugged March. "That's actually a very pitifully, narrow minded way to live, you miss out on all the wondrous possibilities that could be out there if you only believe in the things that you can see. I've been a lot of places, all over the world, and Storybrooke is by far the strangest one I've been to yet. There's something wrong here – I can feel it, all the way to my marrow. Maybe it's the political corruption under Mayor Mills' term as mayor, but I've seen that kind of corruption before, Somalia, Namibia, London, Madrid, Berlin, LA you name it. That's not it though, not all of it at least."

"You're not like most people from your world, then," sniffed Jefferson leaning back. He didn't like the intensity of her gaze on him. Not that she was staring at him intensely – there was just a strange kind of power brewing behind her eyes that hinted to the truth that she meant it when she said that she saw the world in a different way, and it made him uncomfortable. There was some quality, unknown to him, about her eyes that set him on edge. Perhaps it was their astonishing crystal light shade or the way they reflected in the light but there was something about them that felt like the longer she stared at him the more she learned – every dark little secret he harboured was now hers to know. "To believe in something freely without some kind of proof."

"Not at all," she asserted lightly. "Like most people I simply rely on my strongest sense. Only for me it isn't sight, touch, or sound. It's intuition. I've learned to put my faith in it, and it has yet to fail me. Actually it's saved my life on occasion."  _If only Matthew had listened to me – could have saved another too._

"Well, perhaps you're just psychic," a lazy smile emphasized his teasing as he failed to notice her smile falter slightly.

"I'm no psychic," March laughed, pushing all thoughts of Matthew from her mind, leaning forward slightly. "I don't get visions of the future, and I can't tell you what next weeks winning lottery numbers will be. Sorry to disappoint," she thought of her friends in LA and the hard time they liked to give her about her 'funny little feeling,' bemoaning how if she was going to have them then couldn't they at least be useful, financially. "I just get these intense feelings in my gut."

It had taken years of ignoring these feelings, and paying the price for it afterwards until March finally got the hint that maybe her intuition was as finely tuned as her mind, and it might just be trying to tell her something. Took her long enough, but she finally started listening to it, and she was grateful she did. It was that very intuition that told her to leave London, to settle in Storybrooke, to believe in the curse and now it was telling her to trust the unusual man with the cravat and eyeliner.

Nodding, Jefferson contemplated what he'd just heard.

"So this all begs the question of, who are you?" He wondered leaning back on the front corner. From the corner of his eyes he watched her puzzle through the weight of his question. From the way her lip quirked up for a brief second as she took a long drawn out sip from her tea cup he knew that it was a question she'd grappled with since she learned of the curse.

"I'm March," setting the cup down on its saucer she replied coolly. "Now as to what that means in the grand scheme of things, and my place in this world, well I think that is a topic best saved for a philosophy 101 class."

"In other words, you don't know," remarked Jefferson impishly.

"Haven't got the foggiest," she agreed with a chuckle. "I'm not from your world, and yet here I am. In Storybrooke, not cursed. Well perhaps I am, but not in the same capacity as your colleagues."

Hearing her say the words aloud sent a shot of relief through Jefferson's system. At least now he didn't feel so guilty anymore for not being able to place who she was. His relief was doubled by the fact that now he could talk about the curse openly with someone who actually believed him. It was an incredibly underrated feeling of joy to be believed.

"I take it not many people are too keen on hearing there is a curse on Storybrooke? Or that they are, in fact, fairy tale characters trapped in a different world?" She observed as his face betrayed every emotion and thought coursing through his mind.

"Not really," he agreed, with a sigh. "You'd be amazed at how quick people are to call you crazy when you start talking about curses and magic, because you know what they refuse to acknowledge."

"Not really," disagreed March. "People will call you mad for far less. They fear what they don't understand. For some reason or another it gets in their minds that anything strange or different must be bad, and they like to judge. Whether it's the way you dress, or if you're covered in tattoos, or you act a little stranger than they do, they deem you different and feel justified in casting you out."

"Covered in tattoos?" mused Jefferson. He had a distinct feeling that statement wasn't directed towards him.

"Yeah," she nodded smiling down at the ground. Springing forward off the countertop where she sat, she landed on the floor. Turning back around she removed her scarf and began to unbutton her plaid shirt.

"Free tea, and a striptease. This is panning out to be quite the night indeed. I'll have to remember to tip my waitress," Jefferson teased as he watched, transfixed by the glimpses painted skin spilling out from the back of her tank top – it appeared to be the branches of a grand tree with several stars.

Ignoring his comment, March took a shaky breath, unsure why she was showing a relative stranger the most sensitive part of her. "I have others, but these are the obvious ones," she explained turning around to show him the inside of her arms, before revealing the rune nestled in behind her ear.

Leaning closer, Jefferson nearly fell off the counter as he inspected the ink spanning her body. Back in his world the only people who had tattoos were pirates, and March was certainly no pirate – too bubbly. As he read every word, and examined every stroke the more beautiful he found the designs painted on her skin.

"They're stunning," he breathed looking at the words tattooed in swooping cursive lettering on her wrists. "What do those mean?" he asked pointing to them. They weren't anything he'd seen before.

"Oh, those," she laughed a little awkward laugh that sent a small flutter in his chest. "It's from Harry Potter," she explained quickly. Upon seeing the vacant expression on is face she gasped. "You've never heard of Harry Potter?"

"Been kind of busy, you know, being cursed and all," he reminded her. "Kind of limits the reading material."

"The curse got rid of books?" gasped March in horror.

"Any ones of interest at least. You know history," Jefferson sighed sadly, "books are the spread of ideas, and ideas lead to political disruption. You really think the Queen would allow that?"

"But . . . but . . . but books!" March whimpered, her heart breaking slightly. "You poor deprived people. Stories are the closest thing to magic we have in this world!" She paused. "Oh. I get it now. If she brought you here to a world without magic then I guess she wouldn't be so keen on letting you have even that," she replied sadly.

"You can't miss what you never had," Jefferson shrugged.

March contemplated telling him the extent of how much the very notion of a life without books pained her. The thought of her life without all the stories she grew up with made her blood turn cold. During the hard times those stories, those characters had been her friends when she had none, they'd been her family while hers fell apart, they had been her solace and her refuge when the world around her went to hell. The very thought of living in a world, or a life without that sense of comfort and wonder the promise that things will get better, well that would truly be a cursed existence. Perhaps she better not tell him, best not to add insult to injury; besides that topic was maybe a little too personal to tell someone you met that night even if that stranger gave you the feeling of knowing them your entire life.

Bringing March back to their original topic Jefferson asked, "so what is so great about this Harry Potter? He must have meant a lot to you to get him tattooed on your wrists."

"It's a book series about a kid named Harry Potter, I guess that's a bit obvious," she paused at Jefferson's doubtful look. "Anyways," she shook her head, banishing whatever other thoughts she might be thinking, "on his eleventh birthday he discovers he is not just this strange kid, but actually a wizard, and is thrown into this magical world. He goes off to Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, and has all of these fantastic adventures. It's brilliant! Anyways two of the spells he learns while at Hogwarts is lumos – which creates light at the end of his wand, kind of like a flashlight for wizards, and nox is the counter charm which extinguishes the light, thus creating darkness."

The expectant look on Jefferson's face encouraged her to keep explaining as to what possessed her to get such things tattooed on her wrists.  _So much for not getting too personal too quickly_.

"Alright," she sighed, flexing her hand a couple times. "When I was fifteen I was in a pretty dark place, I'd had a bit of a rough childhood, and couldn't take it anymore. I did something pretty stupid, but my mum happened to come home shortly afterwards and got me to help in time.

She bought me the first two books in the series while I stayed in the recovery centre. I must have read them at least twenty times during those six months. Those books helped me more than any of the counselling sessions. They made me feel that is was okay to be different, that being abnormal wasn't a bad thing, and that maybe there were others like me out there – I just hadn't found them yet.

I got the tattoos, with mum's permission, the day I got out of the hospital, as a recognition that there is both light and darkness in all of us. And it's up to us, to choose whether we want to live in the darkness or in the light – it's actually a theme that came up in the later books in the series. But I like to think it was my idea first.

When I tried ending it, I gave in to the darkness, and I never wanted to do that again. I wasn't going to let that darkness dictate my life anymore. The day I left the hospital marked the beginning of the journey to recapture the light. It's not easy, I still have dark days, but everyone has a darkness they can't escape. It's all about the choice. You can give in and let it consume you, or you can fight it. I chose to fight back.

I started doing things for myself. The whole experience taught me that, you can spend your live driving yourself ragged caring what every one thinks, trying to please them, or you can not give a damn and let yourself be happy. I chose the latter. People are going to think and say what they want, my time and energy can be spent on better things than trying to make them happy.

Sadly it is easier said than done, especially when you're a fifteen year-old kid, I'm afraid. I was lucky, mum was majorly supportive, and helped where she could. I started living for me, and it was the best think I could have ever done. I got rid of the name I hated, started calling myself March, and I really focused on my studies. I graduated early, went to Uni that October on a full ride scholarship, and never looked back."

Jefferson sat in silence. Too stunned to speak.  _That's how she knew_. She recognized the darkness in him from her own past. His heart simultaneously lifted, and filled with lead. Regret and pain filled him to know that she knew of such darkness at such a young age, and yet he was relieved to know someone else knew his torture, and was capable of moving past it. Looking back at her arms he saw them now, the thin white lines that marred her skin – hidden beneath the ink. How long had she been doing that before the darkness became too much?

"Grace," he said softly avoiding eye contact.

"Pardon?" March asked softly cocking her head at him.

"That's my daughter's name," he admitted swallowing the lump in his throat. "She's here, in Storybrooke. Except . . . only she has no recollection of who I am, or who she is." Peeking up at her face he saw a pair of tearful eyes on an otherwise stoic face looking back at him.

"Only you escaped the curse?"

"I didn't escape," Jefferson snapped angrily. "I'm cursed worse than anyone else in this god forsaken town." Ejecting himself from the counter top he leapt forward to look at the glass windows to the rest of the town. His bitterness ran deep. For twenty-eight years it had nowhere else to go but reach deeper into his heart, poisoning him slowly over time.

"Two sets of memories, two realities always at war within one mind. Caught, in a world, knowing you don't belong here, torn from the only person in the world you care about, and to have them have no idea who you are. Watching another man read her to sleep, hold her and have her call him papa. It is a knife to the heart that never kills you; it just cuts you deeper and deeper until all that's left is a thread, a tiny shred of who you used to be holding you together – it's enough to make you mad."

He was cut off suddenly by March wrapping her arms around him holding him close to her as her chin rested against his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"It's called a hug, dummy," she whispered holding him even tighter.

"I'm familiar with the concept. Why are you doing it?"

"Because you need one," she explained, "and because I happen to be an excellent hugger."

Instead of arguing, his shoulders sagged forward, and he collapsed into her embrace, relishing in the feeling of having arms wrapped around him. It had been so long since he last had someone hold him. Spending so many years alone left him forgetful of the simple comfort that came with a hug. It was like coming in from out in the cold to a roaring fire in the hearth – perhaps that was just her though. This strange woman seemed to radiate a certain kind of warmth and kindness not many others were in possession of. Wrapping an arm around her Jefferson pulled March in a little closer, desperate to absorb as much of her warmth as possible, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She wasn't lying. She was an excellent hugger.

Who knew how long they stayed like that, a minute, five? Ten? It didn't matter. When they separated Jefferson apologized immediately for his outburst, and proceeded to explain how he and Grace became separated prior to the curse.

* * *

"I abandoned her. I have no one to blame but myself," he sighed bitterly. Well that wasn't necessarily true. He could blame Regina for tricking him, luring him to Wonderland, and then abandoning him there before she enacted her curse. But at the end of the day the decision had still been his, and that realization filled him with more anger and self-loathing than should have been humanly possible.

"You did not abandon your daughter," argued March turning her head to look at him from where they rested against her knees. No longer sitting on the counter tops, they sat side by side against the back counter curled up on the floor.

"And what makes you such an expert?" chuckled Jefferson morosely.

Drawing her knees up close to her chest she rested her cheek against one knee as she looked at him, preparing herself to tell him the story of her parents nasty separation and eventual divorce. "My dad pulled a Houdini on me and my mum when I was a kid," she explained, looking over her shoulder to see the stunned expression on his face. "Only when he finally reappeared it was three years later, and with his mistress on his arm, and their brand new little girl in his lap."

March relived the last night she ever saw her father for Jefferson.

He tucked her in as he'd done every night, told her that he loved her, and turned out the light. As he walked down the hall he told her mother he was heading back to the office to finish up some paper work, then he was just . . . gone. No word. No note. No explanation. Nothing. Three years later, when she and her mum were living in London he couriered them the divorce papers. That's when they learned he was living with his Austrian mistress, and their three year-old daughter, over in Belgium. Her mum saw their wedding announcement in the paper a year after that, and promptly used it to line Percy's cage.

Apparently his mistress managed to give him something her mum couldn't, and it was what made leaving them worthwhile – a normal child. One who didn't experience constant headaches for no reason, and if March was the betting kind, she'd wager he didn't have to spend hundreds of Deutsch Marks a week for a therapist because his other daughter had difficulty connecting to others due to a 'vivid and wild imagination.' No, that was just March.

So he sent her mum her inheritance, now split in half thanks to the half sister she never met, and what was owed in their prenup, and from that day forth March ceased to exist in his world. She had hoped naively that when she was in the hospital following her stint with the pills he might visit – but she was proven sadly wrong.

"Twenty-two years later, and still nothing. At least what you did, you did for Grace. Wasn't your fault the Queen betrayed you," she replied bitterly.

Between the sting of her father's betrayal and subsequent abandonment, and her hyperactive personality – which everyone seemed to perceive as some kind of mental disorder – Jefferson slowly started to understand that dark period she referred to earlier.

"How does your wife feel about all this?" March wondered looking down at the ground. Surely she had to be somewhere in the town. Did she forget about him too? Was she with Grace? Or did she escape the curse like Jefferson and lived with him as far from the painful memories the curse would allow?

"My wife?" asked a stunned Jefferson. He didn't have a wife, and hadn't for many years, even pre-dating the curse.

"You wear a ring on your left hand– that large ostentatious thing with the red stone," she pointed to the ring in question. "I'm sorry, I just assumed you . . ." she cut herself off not entirely sure where to take the sentence.

"Oh. I was," he replied quickly realizing that of course to any logical person he would have a wife. He had a daughter, and a ring; it was safe to presume that at one point he had been married. "A long time ago," he explained abruptly, "but she . . . uh . . . died." He scratched the back of his head nervously trying to deflect his discomfort. This was not a particularly comfortable topic of conversation for him.

"I shouldn't have said anything," March apologized quickly, fearing she'd just said the most wicked thing in the world to him. "I am so sorry for your loss," her voice was scarce louder than a whisper as it caught slightly in the back of her throat.

This was shaping up to be a fun night – what would she do next? She'd already spoken about her attempted suicide as a teen, her father's abandonment, reminded a widower of his dead wife, and subsequent missing child –  _Do I know how to be the life of a party or what?_

"Don't." He stopped her from continuing her sympathies; he didn't want them. "It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago, really."

He didn't have it in his heart to tell March that it hadn't been a happy marriage; the only reason why he'd married the wretch of a woman at all was because she became pregnant with his daughter after what was meant to be a one-night affair. Grace was the only good thing to come from their union, not that Elena saw it that way. She abandoned both Grace and Jefferson when Grace was still a toddler, too young to remember her mother. He'd tried so hard to reform his old ways, to be a good husband, and father to them both, and none of it mattered. She still took him for everything that he had, forcing him and Grace to live in squalor in the woods, and made off like a bandit in the dead of night.

He hated the woman.

Years later, when he heard news of her death he refused to mourn. She had been dead to both him and Grace for years and there was no need to reopen old wounds, and hurt Grace further. Grace knew nothing of her mother's wickedness, and Jefferson vowed to keep it that way. Grace needn't know her mother's true nature – she needed someone she could look up to, a female role model. So he kept on wearing the wedding ring he hated – an heirloom from her family. He wore it, and upheld the lies that it represented, that it had been a happy marriage, and Elena's absence was greatly mourned – not celebrated. Honestly, he'd forgotten about the ring on his left hand at this point. It was just kind of . . . there, like a freckle or a malevolent mole.

March looked over at him for a brief second. "You know, I quite like you," she said after a moment, returning from whatever dark alcove she had visited in the back of her mind as Jefferson briefly revisited his own.

"You barely know me," Jefferson pointed out breaking out in a grin, eager to leave such a grim topic in the past.

"I know, but I feel strangely comfortable," she shrugged. "I just have a good feeling about you."

"That's not a sentence I hear too often," he chuckled. Truth be told, he liked her too. Rare was it for him to find someone he could talk openly with, not only about the curse, but about Grace, amongst other topics. He doubted he would have mentioned Grace to Emma had he not needed her to try and make the stupid hat work. Load of good that had done him anyways, the hat still didn't work and people, if they even knew he existed, had upgraded him from reclusive eccentric to full tilt psychopath. " You're not half bad yourself," he leaned over giving her shoulder a playful nudge as he grinned back in her direction.

His smile radiated a kind of warmth and sincerity March was not particularly use to experiencing. Sure, people smiled at her all the time, but never the kind that radiated with the same kind of warmth and sincerity as Jefferson's. People humoured her, and they tolerated her, but that was about it. They often found her too exhausting to be around with the rapid way her mind worked, and the often far off look she had, too caught up in her own imaginary world to pay attention to what anyone else was saying.

"I hope you stay here, in Storybrooke," Jefferson looked back at her with heartfelt honesty. "But if you do, let me give you some advice."

"Okay," she looked at him, bracing herself for the kind of advice someone might give when trying to adapt to life in a magical town under a dark curse with fairytale characters; especially when the person giving the advice was the 'Mad Hatter.'

"Number one rule of Storybrooke – Never trust the Queen. Actually you should just avoid her at all costs," something dangerous flashed behind his eyes as he issued his warning, causing March to sit a little straighter. "I'm serious March, stay away from her."

The severity of his caution was not lost on her. She remembered the way Henry advised her to stay as far off his mom's radar as possible. So far she'd managed three weeks in town, and had yet to come across the infamous 'evil Queen' or as the people in Storybrooke knew her 'Mayor Mills.' Actually so far March's biggest problem in town had been keeping Dr. Whale, and his numerous advances, at bay. According to several sources, mostly Ruby and Mary Margaret, he was a renowned womanizer; besides, March wasn't really all that into blondes not that it seemed to stop him. But she made a mental note now that this was the second person to warn her against the Queen – that couldn't be a coincidence.

The two continued talking. Jefferson gave her a couple extra tips about life in Storybrooke he picked up over the years, and even told March a bit more about life in the Enchanted forest with Grace. The two things he never spoke of were Wonderland, and his life prior to Grace. Not wanting to be rude, and risk annexing the first real person she saw as a possible friend, aside from Ruby, since her arrival in town March didn't ask. Besides, they had still technically just met. With any luck there would still be plenty of time to get to know the hatter.

* * *

At one point as they talked March excused herself for a minute, but not before making Jefferson swear on his collection of cravats not to rob her, and got up to go into the back room. When she returned a moment later Jefferson saw her cuddling a white fluff ball of a rabbit. Having seen the rabbit several times through the lens of his telescope Jefferson developed a premature fondness for the creature, but he was even more precious in person.

"I can't believe I forgot Percy was in the back room," she cooed, scratching the rabbit behind the ears. "Poor thing," she held him in one hand as she sat back down. The rabbit was even less keen on socializing with large groups than his owner, which was why March settled on leaving him in the backroom during the 'Grand Opening' party. Setting him on the ground she held up a finger, uttering a strict warning, "remember, in the bucket or you don't come out anymore."

The rabbit simply twitched his nose at her, blinking a couple times, before hopping over towards Jefferson. If Jefferson didn't know better, he'd have sworn the rabbit understood what she was saying to him.

"What's this little guy's name?" he wondered. His entire face lit up when he saw the rabbit climb into his lap, nuzzling up against his stomach. Reaching down he scratched the rabbit behind the ear, same way he watched March do seconds earlier.

"Percival or Percy for short." March replied watching in utter fascination as Percy continued sucking up to Jefferson. "He likes you. I've never seen him warm to anyone like that before. He tends to be very protective. Aren't you Percy?"

She smiled reaching over to stroke his snowy fur. She named him for Sir Percival, the youngest knight at Arthur's round table, because as March often pointed out to the animal, he was the only man she could count on. Often, back when she brought men home, Percival would do his best to disrupt their amorous activities by making a ruckus in his cage, he'd even bitten a couple of the men when they stuck their fingers in his cage. The only men Percy ever seemed to approve of were the friends she made back in LA, even then it took a while for him to warm up to them. He was being a right royal suck up with Jefferson.

"Percival?" wondered Jefferson with a good-natured chuckle. It was a strange name for a rabbit. "Not cottontail?"

Instantly March stopped petting the rabbit and gave Jefferson the most perplexed, borderline scandalized look he'd ever seen. "Who names a rabbit  _Cottontail_?" She asked, saying the word cottontail as though it were the vilest word in the English language. The accompanying face she made, made Jefferson burst out in laughter.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking," he apologized quickly with a wry smile. "He is clearly a Percival." Not caring that the rabbit was shedding fur all over his clothes, he continued stroking the small animal until lay fast asleep in Jefferson's lap while returning to his earlier conversation with March.

* * *

"Oh Gods," March gasped peaking up over the counter top.

"What?" wondered Jefferson, slightly worried by the shocked tone. Knowing his luck there would be a lynch mob outside demanding his head. Honestly, nothing would surprise him at this point.

"Look outside," March laughed.

Passing the sleeping Percy over to his proper owner Jefferson got up and looked out the glass door. What he saw did surprise him. Sun. Peaking over the surrounding trees and buildings, the soft warm glow of sunrise greeted his eyes. Somehow, he and March spent the entire night talking. He had to have been in the store at least ten if not twelve hours by now. Funny, how neither one of them had noticed.

"I should probably let you go home," March apologized, accepting his offer to help her up.

Quietly he agreed. Gathering up his jacket he bought a large tin of the tea she'd made for him when he first walked through the front door. It was the least he could do considering he'd kept her up all night, not that she seemed to mind in the slightest. Insisting that she enjoyed the company, she followed Jefferson out the front door.

Bidding March good-bye, Jefferson started the trek back to his house. Turning back around he watched March and Percival walk up the flight of stairs in the back alley leading to a small loft apartment right above the store. Smiling to himself he turned back around and continued walking home. It was by far one of the best nights he'd had in nearly three decades.

Things were finally starting to look up for the hatter.


	5. Secret Identi-teas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One clever Storybrooke resident has finally discovered March's alter ego

 

“You look like hell,” blurted Ruby as she poured March her morning cup of orange juice.  Too tired, and feeling all too inept to even stick a bagel in her toaster oven, March trudged over to Granny’s a couple hours after Jefferson left Claritea.  She’d only had a quick three-hour nap before she rose to begin getting ready to open the store for ten.  She hadn’t even changed, aside from throwing on a navy and white striped sweater over her tank top in place of the plaid shirt she’d worn last night and changing her socks. Today’s mismatched pair were green with blue stripes, and red with white polka dots.

“Didn’t get much sleep,” she mumbled sleepily, gulping down the juice.  Mentally she made a note to go to the store after work and buy real orange juice, the kind with pulp, and wasn’t overloaded with sugar and preserves.

“That sounds promising,” Ruby gave her a flirtatious smile.  “What, or who, kept you up all night?”

For a brief second March contemplated telling Ruby about Jefferson, but decided against it.  While she doubted Ruby knew who he actually was, he preferred to keep to himself, and to keep distant from the town. For now she’d just have to keep him a secret, part of her was thrilled to have a friend all to herself. 

“Just couldn’t sleep,” she lied with a half-hearted smile.

Pouting, Ruby informed March that she needed to learn to have fun, before walking away to give the cook her breakfast order.

March didn’t dare tell Ruby that she knew to have fun – a little too well, actually. Countless nights of unbridled passion, twisted bed sheets, screaming abandon and waking up in the arms of gorgeous men whose names she could not bother to remember came to mind at the sound of “fun.” She had been quite “fun loving” back in London, and even in LA for a time, but that was something she grew out of, and was a lifestyle she had no intention of returning to. Her days of casual sex were long over.

Just as Ruby set down a plate of eggs over easy, and hash browns with whole-wheat toast, someone slid into the booth across from her. “August?” replied March surprised.  She hadn’t seen Pinocchio since her first day in town, when he and Henry told her about the curse.  “What a pleasant surprise.  How have you been?”

“I know who you are,” he whispered, leaning forward in attempt to prevent anyone else from over hearing them. The joys of small town living – everyone was involved in everyone else’s business.

March said nothing as she reached over for the HP sauce.  To anyone not in the know, his sentence, combined with the strange glint in his eye, might have come across as menacing… and slightly homicidal.  Instead, March chuckled in amusement before taking a bite of toast.

“Very well then.  Lets have it.  Who am I?”

“Lyn Rhys,” he whispered with an eager smile stretching back the corners of his mouth.  “You’re the mystery writer – Lyn Rhys.”

Cutting into her eggs, March offered him a tiny smile of her own.  “You certainly wasted no time on that, but you caught me.” Taking a bite of egg dipped toast she smiled.  “How’d you figure it out – I’m curious.”

Chuckling, with a charming, albeit slightly smarmy, grin August leaned back in the booth. “You mentioned reviewing my last book.  So I flipped through, noting all the authors who commented on it on the jacket.  Then I ran the list through the list of authors who go through Highwest Harbours publishing house.  I came up with six authors.  There were two science fiction writers, but after reading the first page of their books I figured they didn’t have the right voice to be you.  Next was a bodice ripping romance writer who I prayed wasn’t you.  Then I saw it.  Lyn Rhys, author of Winter’s Blood – and I just knew.  Winter’s Blood is the perfect novel to be written by someone with a wild and fantastic imagination with a flare for adapting fairy tales into grisly murder mysteries.  Your insight into the human mind, and basic perception of this world is absolutely brilliant, plus your ability to weave folktales into the plot is very stylistic of Dan Brown.”

“You’ve read my books before?” March inquired, pleasantly surprised by his glowing review.  “You know I’m both flattered by your determination, and mildly concerned by the seemingly ample amount of free time you’ve had to research me.  Is there really that little to do in this place?”

“I can’t get on an airplane without them,” August replied honestly. “And don’t worry about it – I’m sure you’ll find yourself pleasantly busy once the store really takes off,” he assured her.

“Hey August,” Ruby greeted with a flirtatious smile.  “Can I get you anything?”

“Nah – I should be going. I don’t want to impose on March. I just wanted to tell her something.”

“Oh, please by all means stay. It’s always nice to converse with a fellow writer,” March insisted as August rose to get out of the seat.

Returning her smile, August sat back down.  “Well in that case I’ll take a coffee, black, and whatever she’s having.”

“Black coffee, and a full breakfast plate.  Got it.” March couldn’t help but notice the knowing wink Ruby gave her after August turned to continue their conversation.

“So how’s business been?” He wondered after Ruby returned with his coffee.

“It’s good,” March bobbed her head. “Well, it’s okay. About as well as expected for a tea shop in a small, coffee drinking town in America. I’ll get the customers coming soon enough,” she added trying to stay optimistic.  She’d been opened for a week and was so far averaging fifteen customers a day if she was lucky.  But that was okay.  Rome wasn’t built in a day and so forth.  It would take a while to build up her cliental, and that was just fine.  “How goes operation cobra?” She asked taking another bite of egg.

“How do you think?” he countered with a grim look.  Everyone was still cursed.  Emma still didn’t believe, and he was near suicidal from the pain as the wood slowly climbed up his body. “Not well.”

March reached out for his hand as she offered him her sincerest apologies.  She wished there was more she could do to help them, but like the others, she was at a loss as to what she could do.  It’s not exactly as if she had any experience in this – whatever this was. 

It was strange though. Every fairytale, and Disney movie, March had seen while growing up, the one thing they had in common was that True Love’s Kiss was the key to breaking every spell, curse, enchantment that existed.  There had been so much of that love going on in the town since she arrived – in the little every day things.  It was almost enough to make March believe in true love.  But none of it mattered, only Emma could break the curse, and she was as likely to believe in magic and true love as March was to believe in non-fat ice cream.  Even if all the little acts of true love within the town weren’t enough to break the curse why weren’t they enough to shake the pot a bit? 

What she’d gathered about Sheriff Graham’s death was, after he kissed Emma he started to remember. Was it because only Emma had the power, or was it something greater.  Was Emma his true love, but he wasn’t hers? Did that mean Emma would have to kiss everyone in the town until she found her true love, and the curse finally broke?  If so – she was going to need a lot of chapstick, and breath mints.  It would be exhausting, having to kiss everyone in the town, every man, woman and child.  It would also mean a lot of bad breath, and germs.  Oh Gods.  The germs!

Shuddering at the very thought of all the diseased bacteria swimming around in the mouths of the people of Storybrooke Emma might have to kiss, March realized August had been talking while she was lost in her mind.  Giving her head a quick shake she looked back at him apologetically.  “I’m sorry, what?” she asked, having missed everything he just said.

Instead of being offended, August just laughed.  “Don’t worry, wasn’t important,” he insisted with a shrug.  “Lost my train of thought anyways.”

“Did you know the first use of the phrase train of thought is believed to date back as far back as 1651 by Thomas Hobbes – far preceding the actual invention of trains, which of course didn’t come about until after the Industrial Revolution with the perfection of the steam engine for rotary motion by Scottish engineer James Watt in 1781. Interestingly enough James Watt is the same Watt that the watt is named after that determines power – you know… the watt that’s measured in joules per second – physics?”

“Heh,” August chuckled awkwardly. “Was never much of a science kind of guy.  I kind of just stuck with writing.”

“Oh,” March mumbled quietly. “I was kind of all over the place in Uni myself. Took me forever to actually pick a major. Think I changed it about four or five times until I found one that actually stuck.”

Having confessed to never actually attending Uni, August steered the conversation out of awkward territory, and back on to something more pleasant, and certainly more productive.

 

* * *

 

 

After they finished their breakfast, August covered the bill for both of them, in spite of March’s protests. Afterwards he walked her back to the shop, eager to see the inside since she finished her renovations.

“Wow,” he breathed looking around. “This place looks amazing.” The walls were painted a calming pale green with cheery yellow and lavender accents.  Over in the far right corner several plush love seats, and cushioned chairs with wooden tables created a cozy reading nook as several large bookcases framed the corner.  One bookcase was filled with boxes of various teas and accessories, and the other was sparsely filled with books, to be filled over time. Beautiful pieces of art, reminiscent of the romantic period in both theme and style, decorated the walls, where crates turned cupboards were absent.  It was cluttered enough to be cozy, but clear enough to be professional.   In the far back of the shop was a long wood panelled bar with marbled counter top.  Behind the bar was another counter top and a wall with over a hundred different canisters of loose tea leaves.  Sitting on the back counter were several old fashioned silver trays, and numerous, hand painted ceramic tea pots – all ready to serve hot cups of tea for an impromptu tea party.

“This reminds me of a tea place I saw in France one,” August breathed looking around.  She had gotten all this done in only three weeks? Someone get the woman a medal. She must have worked night and day on the shop to get it ready for its opening.  But her work paid off – it looked amazing.

“That was kind of the look I was going for,” March admitted looking around.  She wanted something bright and cheery, but also wonderfully cozy. The kind of place she’d want to come to for longer periods of time, especially considering she was fairly certain she’d be spending long hours in the shop on her own.  But in the end she was very pleased with the over all effect.  Her finishing touch would be begging Tony to send her books from the company to stock her shelves – promote some great authors so people had something to read if they didn’t have a book with them and wanted to sit for a spell while they enjoyed their tea.  Maybe she’d even talk to Granny about getting some baked goods or something over to Claritea for people to enjoy.  But for now she was proud of her little space, and that was all that mattered in the end.

“You did a fantastic job,” August agreed.  “Anyways, I should probably get going – you know, got a Saviour to convince, and a town to save.”

“Listen, if you and Henry ever want to meet up to discuss operation cobra, just give me a call,” March dug one of her business cards out of her wallet and handed it over to August. “My mobile number is on there – and it is working,” she assured him.  That had been a battle and a half.  She must have spent the better part of three hours arguing with her mobile provider as she tried to get her number switched from an LA area code to Maine.

August took the card, quickly gleaming the vital information before reaching into his pocket to give her a business card of his own. 

“Just in case you ever want to get in touch,” he returned the gesture before replacing the card’s space in his wallet with the one she’d given him. 

“I will, thanks,” she walked August back out the door, locking it behind him as she then prepared herself for another day at work.  She still needed to tidy the back room after her little chat with Jefferson the night before. She smiled slightly as she thought about the ease in which they conversed with one another, wishing it could be like that with everyone she met.  There was just something about the way she felt when she was with him, the gentle calm inside her head in place of the usual manic chaos was an unusual change – one that she quite enjoyed and hoped to experience again, and soon.

As she put the kettle on to boil, and gathering the inventory paperwork from the backrooms, she couldn’t help but wonder if the Hatter would be back again tonight.  Silently, she hoped so.


	6. Telescopes and Blank Stares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out for a run in the woods, March runs into a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm off on break, and it's almost Christmas... so I feel a wee bit generous and have decided to post three chapters this month instead of my usual one... Cheers!

A week passed since March first met Jefferson, and he hadn’t returned to Claritea. She kept the lights on, and the door unlocked when she cleaned up, even staying late to do extra business just in case he decided to appear as he had that first night, but nothing.   She was almost starting to believe that she imagined the whole thing, and that he’d been just one of the many imaginary friends she’d had over the years.

Almost.

Trying not to read too much into it, March decided now was a good as time as any to get back into running. Claritea was running smoothly for the most part, and she finally had enough time to actually develop some kind of a routine, and the first thing she was going do was go running. Having run track all through school and Uni, March was pretty good at it too, a natural sprinter. Her mom loved to joke that she learned to run before she could walk – which was one of the reasons why her legs were always black and blue.  

She hadn’t gone for a proper run since she arrived in Storybrooke, and she could feel its absence deep in her muscles as she ran along an old dirt path in the woods. One of the nice things about running in a small town compared to the city was that she could run on something other than hard concrete. The only place she could really escape the concrete jungle of the city was when she went to Griffith Park, but even then that was nearly an hour out of her way.

With her iPod secured in her armband, March chose her marathon playlist to run to today. Over the years she’d made several running playlists. There was her hard core sprinting playlist, which consisted of techno dance music with exceptionally high bpm to encourage fast heartbeat and even faster footsteps; she usually saved that playlist for the days leading up to a meet. Then there was her usual running playlist, which consisted mostly of various rap artists. Then there was her marathon play list – a long playlist filled with happy upbeat pop hits and some rap mixed in as well, all of them were still energetic but less intense than her sprinter’s list. She listened to it when she wanted to focus more on endurance than speed. Because she hadn’t gone running in almost a month March figured it was safer to focus on building up her endurance again rather than trying to push herself to get back to her old times.

As she veered up a slight incline deep in the heart of the forest she decided she’d had enough of Lady Gaga and her Edge of Glory.   March decided to scroll through until she found who she was looking for - Nicki Minaj. There were few rap artists March truly liked, Eminem, Drake, Jay- Z , but Nicki had to be her all time favourite.

Singing along with Starships, March leapt over a couple of roots blocking the path. Picking up speed, she pushed herself into going faster, the familiar and welcomed ache in her legs told her that it’d be time to turn around soon – soon. Unlike a lot of others she knew, she loved the feeling of her muscles screaming against her and the burn in her chest as she pushed herself into running harder and faster. Lost in the music and her own little world March looked up from the path just as she ran into something, or rather, someone.

Knocking the unsuspecting stranger to the ground from the sheer force of her impact, March then proceeded to trip over their body, causing her to land on top of them and the both of them rolling down the hill. Once they finally came to a stop, the stranger lay flat on their back on the ground, groaning.

March ripped tore her headphones from her ears, music still blaring, and began apologizing profusely.   Cursing herself for her gross negligence, she looked down into the face of the man she had unwittingly attacked, and proceeded to literally run over. A familiar pair of blue eyes stared back from underneath her.

“Jefferson?” she greeted, sure that her eyes must be tricking her. “What are you doing here?”

“Well right now I appear to be a chaise lounge for you,” the smile stretching across his face softened his otherwise harsh response to her poorly worded question.

Realizing she was still laying on top of him, March quickly rolled off, scrambling to her feet, wiping away at some of the mud covering her pant before reaching forth a hand to help him up. Turning off the music from her iPod she turned to face him again. “I am so sorry. I should have been paying attention to where I was going. I hope I didn’t hurt you... did I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he accepted her offer to help, taking her hand in his, she pulled him back to his feet. “Not the first time I’ve been run over while out walking.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Who ran you over the first time?”

“The sheriff,” he chuckled grimly, recalling that disastrous night. Not one of his better plans. “With her car.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt.”

“Wish I could say the same for you. You’re bleeding,” he pointed to a small cut on her cheek, trickling blood.

Pressing her fingers against the spot where Jefferson pointed, March stared back at the dirt stained tips of her fingers. Blood. “Damn,” she cursed mildly. “It’s always something, isn’t it.” She didn’t direct the words to Jefferson but to herself. For the most part she was prone to bruising, and judging from the way she ached in her lower legs, she had a few of them there now too. Every once in a while, however, she did cut herself – never anything serious, Gods be good, but always enough to draw attention.

“You might want to get that cleaned up. You don’t want to get an infection,” Jefferson reached into his coat pocket, handing her a handkerchief.

“You seriously walk around with handkerchiefs in your pocket?” she marvelled, taking the small square of fabric from him. She pressed it gently against her cheek. “Then again, what do I expect from a man who wears cravats past the 20th century.”

Jefferson looked at the ground, attempting to hide the smile on his face as she spoke. “What can I say?” he mused. “I guess I’m just old fashioned, besides I hear they’re making a comeback.”

“Well it suits you, very well,” she smiled, “Comeback or no.” Watching the fine white linen corners of the clothe slowly turn to red she added, “I promise, I’ll get this properly laundered before I return it to you.”

“Keep it. I have others.”

She thanked him before pressing it against her cheek, hoping to absorb all the blood this time round. She was a bleeder; no matter how shallow the cut she bled as though she’d just lost a limb.

“You have any water to help wash the area?” Jefferson gently brushed away at some of the dirt on her face close to the cut, knowing that simply dabbing at the blood wouldn’t clean it, or prevent infection.

“In my car,” she motioned back to the main road a couple miles away. “I always keep two bottles in there. Just in case.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you back.” Jamming his hands in the pocket of his coat he turned and began making his way back to the main path with March following close behind.

“Thanks,” she smiled as they started the walk back. “You walk in the woods often?”

“Every day,” he confessed. It started as a looking for a possible way back to the Enchanted Forest; it was also how he got started with cartography as well. Desperately, he spent months, even years, looking for someway for him and Grace to get back to the home, and life, they knew. Together. Nothing. Now the walks gave him something to do with his time, they became part of his perfectly timed routine. A routine that March’s presence in Storybrooke disrupted. Not that she knew that, and he’d rather keep it that way. There was no reason for her to know about his little habits.

“What about you? You were running pretty fast there. You do that often?”

“Not as often as I’d like,” she admitted. “I’ve run a few marathons, but overall I prefer speed over endurance.”

“Yeah? What marathons you run? He attempted to small talk as they walked.

“Boston, London, Paris, New York,” she listed a few.

Jefferson stared at her in awe. “What, were you a professional runner in another life or something?”

“I used to run in Uni on the track team, I was good too, even earned a scholarship, but I don’t run professionally,” she laughed. “What about you? Do you have any sports or hobbies?”

“I do not run… unless I’m being chased,” he laughed awkwardly. “As far as hobbies go, aside from making hats, there’s walking in the woods, and cartography.” _Amongst other things,_ he added mentally. That would only scare her though, so made sure he kept that bit to himself.

Following the path back up the hill to the road, they soon found themselves in the same easy conversation as before, that night in her store. Just as the road came into sight, March’s phone rang from the inside pocket of her running coat.

“Sorry. I should get that,” she apologized to Jefferson before answering. “Hello?” She greeted pleasantly. “Marco, hello, wonderful to hear from you... what do you mean another week? No. You promised me hot water yesterday. Marco... Please don’t do this to me. Please?... Yes I know Mayor Mills is a very important woman, but she doesn’t have to rent a room at Granny’s just to take a bloody shower. I am literally renting a room by the hour. People are going to start thinking I’m a bangtail. Bangtail. It’s... oh never you mind what it means... ugh. Fine. Please just send some one soon. Good bye.”

“Problem?” Jefferson mused, rather smugly. “Sorry, couldn’t help but over hear.”

“Heh,” March forced a smile. “It’s my hot water tank, it doesn’t work. My flat hasn’t had hot water in almost two weeks. Marco was supposed to come by to fix it today, but apparently the mayor has called him to take a look at her house for something. He won’t be free for at least another week.” Her head rested back against her threaded fingers as March sighed. “Looks like another week of showering at Granny’s,” she bemoaned. “Great.”

Anxiously Jefferson chewed on the skin of his bottom lip as he toyed with an idea in his mind. It was a crazy idea. One that only a lunatic would entertain, and yet he was seriously considering it. “My house is just a mile up the road. You’re more than welcome to use a shower there. I have several,” he blurted the words immediately before his brain had a chance to reconsider.

“Are you serious?” demanded March. His offer came out of the blue, and struck her as odd, but completely genuine – she’d never heard of anyone offering up the use of their shower to a relative stranger, even if they had spent an entire night talking with that stranger over copious amounts of tea, and could be defined as one of the best nights of said stranger’s life. “And that wouldn’t be weird?” She asked after a moment. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering his offer. It was ludicrous to shower at a strange man’s house. On the other hand she meant it when she said she was starting to feel like a hooker having to rent a room at Granny’s just for the hour so she could shower in peace. Not to mention it was getting expensive renting a room for an hour every day – twice a day if she was serious about running every morning, even if Granny gave her, ‘the friends and family’ discount.

“Sure,” Jefferson shrugged casually, finding no problem with the idea. “I have plenty of hot water, and all it’ll cost you is a cup of tea.”

“I think I can swing that,” she nodded enthusiastically. “Are you sure it won’t be a problem?”

“Not at all,” he agreed. “It’s just me at the house. Some company might be nice for a change.”

“You sir, have yourself a deal,” she grinned, relieved that she wouldn’t have to be asking Granny for a room. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m rather sticky,” she admitted as they reached her vehicle. “Please, allow me to at least give you a ride home?”

“That sounds fair,” he chuckled pleasantly. “Do you need to grab any supplies?”

“I have a spare set in the back,” she confessed motioning to the duffel bag sitting on the back seat. “Gut feeling,” she added after a moment.

“Then I suppose we’re good to go,” Jefferson opened the unlocked passenger side door.

“Alright,” she grinned again, causing Jefferson to wonder if that was simply her default setting. “Just point the way,” she added as the key turned in the ignition, brining the vehicle to life.

Jefferson buckled his seatbelt, and began giving March directions to his place.

 

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“Oh mein Gott,” March breathed in excited, awe inspired German as they stepped inside the lavish house, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “You live here?” she wondered looking around.   “You could fit my entire flat in here. You could fit my entire flat in the front hall,” she chuckled. “This is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Jefferson replied uncomfortably, tossing his house keys into a small ceramic bowl he kept by the front door. “I can thank Madam Mayor, and her curse for all of this. Raised me up from poverty, and living in a hovel in the woods.”

“All at the cost of your daughter,” March finished, casting a glance at him over her shoulder, illustrating just how perceptive she was. “An entire house with the sole purpose of mocking you as a reminder of everything you’ve lost,” she mumbled wandering into the next room, “well, she certainly is sadistic if nothing else.”

Transfixed by her curiosity, Jefferson followed her into the living room. It was the first time he allowed anyone to wander freely throughout his mansion. Wasn’t so much that he invited March to explore, she just did, and he simply chose not to stop her curiosity.

“The loneliest moment in life is when someone can watch their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly,” she said, spying the telescope sitting in the corner of the room. The device called to her with its antiquated beauty, much to Jefferson’s internal horror.

He watched as her fingers, lithe and dainty, traced along the engravings etched into the brass optical tube of the telescope. She eyed it with great interest, and yet she didn’t bother to ask why it wasn’t trained upwards to the stars.

“What?”

“Sorry, I’m paraphrasing Gatsby. Studied English back in Uni,” she explained stepping away from the scope, making her way instead towards the grand piano that acted as the centrepiece in the room, much to Jefferson’s relief.

“Why?” 

“I like stories,” March shrugged, with smile that possessed an almost mystical quality. “Especially fairytales. I love the lessons. They tell us that magic is real, and dragons can be defeated. Good will conquer evil, and true strength comes from the heart. You can have the greatest adventure of your life, and never leave the comfort of your armchair. They make life in this world a little more bearable, and far less dull. And as you know, I happen to be very, very pro-interesting.”

“So you’ve said,” he recalled their first encounter, back in her store. “Perhaps I’ll have to read these stories of yours,” Jefferson mused, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against the wall, never taking his eyes off March.

“Do you play?” she asked, motioning towards the piano, abruptly changing the topic of conversation. She would assume that he did, but after the childhood she had back home in England, she knew many people only kept pianos for decoration.

“A bit,” he admitted stepping closer towards her. In all honesty it had been months since he played anything at all, but the moment his fingers touched the ivory keys it were as if he’d never stopped. He played a couple notes to a song he knew once, long ago, much to March’s delight.

“I never took to music. I tried a bit as a kid to play the cello, but I was never any good at it. I love watching people play though. Mum used to take me concerts all the time, symphonies, orchestras; you name it. You can always tell when someone has a passion for their instrument. It’s as though they play with their hearts instead of their hands. It’s truly one of the most beautiful sights in the world, watching someone play with their whole heart and soul, seeing their instrument merely as an extension of themselves.”

Jefferson took March’s hand in his to examine it. “Everyone can be a musician if their heart’s in it. You were most likely just playing the wrong instrument. You have piano hands,” he mused softly. “ See,” he traced the length of her fingers with his thumb, “long, and graceful.” He paused momentarily to admire her fine fingers. “You have quite a way with words, you know?” he smiled, letting go of her hand after he felt his hands linger a second too long.

“I should hope so, I do write after all,” she returned his smile with one of her own. Only her smile seemed to say ‘yes, I’m aware of the cliché surrounding English majors, and writing, please don’t say anything.”

“Do you now?” he mused. The polite smile he sported earlier twisted and morphed into an amused grin. “You any good?”    

“Good enough to get five books published,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “And have a sixth in the works. They’re more popular here, in America, than they were back home. I see you’ve got quite a collection,” she motioned to the overflowing bookshelves, and the piles on his desk.

“Nothing of interest,” he dismissed quickly with a flourish of his hand. “You seem to know quite a bit about books. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind recommending a few for me?”

“I thought you didn’t have books on account of,” she paused, and looked around warily as they were being listened to by unseen forces before whispering, “the curse? Besides, I haven’t seen a single bookstore or library since I’ve arrived.”

“It's hard to explain, but things in Storybrooke are changing,” Jefferson countered. “Could I borrow yours? If you don’t mind parting with them for a bit that is.”

“Perhaps,” she replied with a heart-warming smile. “After I have that shower, though,” she added, not so subtly reminding him of the true purpose of her presence.

“Right,” Jefferson slapped his knee, getting up from the piano bench. He’d been so surprised by just how comfortable he felt having March in his home, he near forgot the reason why he brought her there in the first place.

“I’ll show you where the guest bath is,” he escorted her down the hall towards the guestroom and accompanying bathroom. They didn’t have far to walk, but the little ways they did, they walked in silence. March was too busy taking in the sight, while he focused solely on trying not to say anything that might scare her off as his mind played twisted images of the last time he had ‘guests’ in the house. Screams. A struggle. Twisted whispers. _Off with his head_. A gun. And a hat, always that damn bloody hat that never seemed to work. He blinked several times, hard, trying to push away those memories and focus on the present. Mercifully March remained behind him and couldn’t bare witness to his breakdown.

“Here we are,” he announced with a forced smile. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” the words stumbled awkwardly as she spoke, having been lost in her mind as he showed her the way. “Thank you, Jefferson. I really appreciate this.”

The warmth behind her smile caused Jefferson to stop his mental twitching, and focus back on her. He melted, just a little on the inside, trying to recall the last time anyone looked at him with such warmth and compassion.

“By the way, for what it’s worth,” she added slowly, stepping into the spacious bathroom. “I think it’s sweet, the way you watch over Grace. Every little girl should be so lucky to have a father like you.”

Stunned, Jefferson thought back to what she said when she saw the telescope. She knew. How? Mouth slightly agape he stared at her. He didn’t know what startled him more, what she said, or the fact that she wasn’t currently running out of his house screaming now that she knew about his little hobby.

“The telescope, the antique brass one in your living room, it’s trained on her house, isn’t it?” She asked in an authoritative voice, telling Jefferson that she wasn’t so much asking him, but telling him what she knew.

“Yes,” he breathed in response, unable to move his gaze trained on her. His eyes softened while his brows rose on his forehead, wondering why he was telling this strange woman anything.

“And you watch. Every night I’d guess. Seeing her with another family, it’s killing you slowly.” She paused for a moment, tongue gliding over her lips as she swallowed hard. As she spoke she avoided eye contact, she couldn’t bring herself to look into those heartbreakingly endless pools.   “Your world is crumbling, but you can’t not watch. You’re her father; you have to make sure she is safe. So you allow your world to crumble with nothing more than an impassive blink.”

“How do you . . .” he didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. He could not recall ever feeling so vulnerable having his secret exposed, but also understood.

“I told you,” March forced a tiny awkward smile as she gave an impartial shrug. “I see things differently.” It wasn’t much, but it was her only means of an explanation. The tension hovered like a thick fog around them, sitting heavy in the room until Finally March spoke again.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” she scolded herself quickly giving her head a shake. “It wasn’t my place. You’ve been incredibly kind to me and I had to go and open my big mouth. I am so sorry. Shutting up now.”

“It’s fine,” Jefferson replied quickly, cutting her off with the brusqueness of his tone. “Really. Forget about it.” Abruptly turning on his heels Jefferson walked back towards his living room without another word to March leaving the subject to drop quickly.

“Good going March,” she scolded, rubbing her temple with her thumb while fingers massaged her forehead. “Lets alienate the first person over the age of ten who’s shown you any real kindness since you’ve arrived.” Locking the door behind her she tapped her head against the wall gently. “Idiot,” she cursed herself before starting the shower.

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It was hard to stay angry with herself the moment the hot water started running down her back. The welcomed combination of heat and pressure beating the tension from her back forced a contented moan to escape her lips. It had been so long since she had a half decent shower she almost didn’t want to get out. But, after washing and conditioning her hair, having a quick go over of her legs with her travel razor March washed the last remnants of her strawberry guava body wash away down the drain and turned the water off.

Moisture hung in the air, fogging up the windows and mirrors, making the air so heavy March could feel it deep inside her chest when she breathed. Wrapping her dampened tresses in one towel she dried herself off with another and dressed quickly before opening the door hoping to help dissipate some of the moisture.

Now that she was out of the shower, her guilt consumed her all over again regarding what she’d said to Jefferson earlier. She really should have just kept her mouth shut. Packing everything back into the Ziploc Baggies she returned them to their designated spot in the duffel bag. Quickly drying her hair with the portable hair dryer she kept tucked away in her little go bag, she added a quick swipe of mascara and neutral lipstick before leaving the bathroom.

Heading back towards the main hall, with her things, March kept an eye open for Jefferson. She wanted to say something else to him, to make things better, only she didn’t know what. She’d already over stepped her boundaries with him once; she didn’t want to make that mistake twice in one go. There was no sign of him as she entered the main hall.

“Jefferson?” she called gently, looking around. She really didn’t want to leave things off this way between them, but she’d have to leave soon to open Claritea and she wasn’t comfortable searching the house for him. When no response came she accepted the grim reality that perhaps he simply did not want to see her at the moment with a half-hearted smile at the floor. _Well I’m not going to just leave things like this,_ she thought.

Walking out to her car she dropped off her duffel bag and returned to the house with a pen and one of the numerous notepads she kept on her at all times – in case inspiration hit she could not be caught unprepared.   Standing in the main hall once more she leaned over the entrance way table scribbling furiously – hoping that her handwriting was legible.

Leaving him a list of books she thought he might like in various genres she also added a quick note apologizing for over stepping her boundaries – especially in light of the great kindness he’d shown her. She thanked him for the use of his shower. Then at the very bottom she left a quick note letting him know she was always available for a chat – listing her phone number if he ever wanted to stop by. “Hopefully I’ll run into you again out in the woods ~~... not literally... again. Just mean that  I....~~ Take care of yourself.”

Signing the note with her large, loopy signature she tucked the folded paper under his keys in the bowl she’d seen him throw them in earlier and left.


	7. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as she's getting ready to close Claritea for another day, March gets a surprise visitor.

The last light of day faded from sight, causing the sky to change from the dulcet shades of orange and pink to majestic blues and purples, and the first stars made their appearance in the night sky. The last customer exited Claritea with a bag of new-found goodies and several samples of tea, two of the ones March recommended for them and one of the ones their friend had sampled. If she had to guess, March figured she'd just met Sneezy, or as he was known in Storybrooke, Tom Clark the pharmacist.

Standing behind the counter with her back turned to the door, March began getting the kettle ready for her closing time cup of tea. She didn't turn around when the bells of the door jingled, signalling to her ears that she would have one more customer tonight after all.

"One second," she called out without looking up from her kettle.

"Why didn't you run?" A familiar voice demanded in a soft yet determined tone.

"Jefferson," March greeted, turning around excitedly to see the hatter standing in her door way. "I was starting to think you weren't coming," she replied ignoring his question. "I just put the kettle on. Should only be a couple minutes."

He stared at her intensely, his eyes sharp, she could almost feel them piercing her skin, burrowing inside of her as he waited for an answer. When nothing came he asked again, "why didn't you run?"

"Excuse me?" She asked, taken aback by the stern edge in his tone.

"Why didn't you run?" He asked again, stepping closer. "You knew... about the telescope," he explained in an even, flat voice that still managed to come across as slightly menacing. "And you didn't call me crazy, psychotic, or even scream. You stared at me like... like you understood. Why?"

Moistening her lips with a quick glide of her tongue, March straightened up, standing a little bit taller she looked Jefferson in the eye her own softening slightly as she addressed his question. "Because you didn't give me a reason to."

Her words stunned him, and he needed a moment to digest what she'd said.

Once March was sure that Jefferson was over his initial shock she continued. "You're not a stalker, or crazy – you're a father, one who loves his little girl, very, very much. Why would I run from someone like that? Personally I find your dedication to Grace quite admirable."

She was interrupted, cut off by Jefferson throwing his arms around her and pulling her in for a close embrace. Her answer hadn't been one he expected, and he was grateful for that. He'd been expecting her to react more the way Emma and Mary Margaret had. Finally, he was genuinely starting to believe March when she said she didn't see the world the same way everyone else did.

She actually believed in magic, and the curse – and him.

Caught off guard, March eventually sunk into the embrace wrapping her arms around Jefferson's waist. Resting her cheek on his shoulder as she held him, she smiled. It had been a while since anyone hugged her.

"Thank-you," he whispered before letting go.

"So," she started, walking back behind the counter to silence the whistle of her kettle. "Do you ever watch me?" she wondered with a sly smirk. "Be honest."

"A couple times," he admitted sheepishly. When she turned around, giving him a strange look he added, "it's not like I sit there with a box of doughnuts every night staring at you for hours on end. Just quick glances, every now and then, after Grace fell asleep." He shrugged. "I was intrigued – you're a mystery; one I thought I could figure out from the safety of my home. But after a few weeks I realized that you're not all that easy to figure out, not from a distance."

"Most people aren't."

"The people here are," he snorted in derision. "I know just about everyone – and I seldom leave the house."

"What is it about this place that has you so spooked?" She wondered as the kettle whistled. Pouring hot water into two large teacups, she waited for his response. She was not a people person, but Jefferson seemed to have a distinct phobia of either the town itself, or at the very least, its people.

"Lets just say I prefer to keep my distance. I'm not on good terms with several influential people in the town." It wasn't so much that there was any one person he was afraid of, but he had a series of complicated relationships within the town, both Regina and Emma immediately came to mind. But it was more than that; there were the feelings of isolation and abandonment he felt every time he stepped out of his house. He felt more alone in the heart of the town surrounded by everyone than he did sitting alone in his house. After all, he was the only one – aside from Regina and Gold – who could remember. The only one who knew they did not belong in this world, the only one who remembered a life before the curse, the only one desperate for an escape.

"So why come down at all?" wondered March as she slid the steaming cup of tea in his direction. Like the time before, she didn't bother asking what kind he wanted, she'd just picked one for him and he went along with it, too distracted to really care. It was hot, and took off some of the early spring chill – that's all that mattered.

"You were worth investigating, worth figuring out." He took a seat at the bar, resting both arms on the polished marble, and watched her work.

"And, have you? Figured me out?" she smirked. If he could have her figured out in a matter of weeks, where trained professionals had failed after years of working together she would eat her cup.

"No," he chuckled looking at the floor. "Every time I think I have a handle on you – what you're like – you do something like that," referring to the incident back at his house earlier that morning, "and I'm back to the beginning."

"Well I should hate to become predictable," replied March, chuckling before taking a sip of tea. Blend 76, herbal tea with fruit infusions, blackberry leaves, dried blueberries, lemongrass, candied mango and pineapple. Steeped for exactly two and a half minutes, no milk, and no sweetener. The taste reminded her of blueberry lemonade. It would make a lovely iced tea come summer.

"You have nothing to worry about in that regard," Jefferson assured before taking a sip from his own cup. "Seriously, how do you do that?" he wondered, looking down at the cup. It was a different flavour than he'd tried the other time, but almost just as lovely.

"Blend 97," she explained. "Black tea leaves from Nepal, peppermint leaves imported from England, blue cornflowers, and coconut. Stepped for three minutes, half a tea spoon of agave, no milk." She smiled cheerfully in Jefferson's direction. "Again it's-"

"Classic with a twist?" he finished for her, breaking out into a heart warming grin of his own, and a bob of his head. He liked the way she seemed to relate to people through tea. "Oh, I believe I have something of yours," he added, setting the cup down on the counter. Reaching into the pocket of his good coat he pulled out a long silver chain, and pendant. On the pendant was seal stamped into silver, the seal contained a shield with an anchor and several arrows below a flaming chalice and a banner beneath the shield.

He held it out for her to see. There was no doubt in his mind who it belonged to. It had to be hers. She was the only one to use that bathroom aside from him, and he didn't wear jewellery aside from the odd ring.

"My necklace," she breathed, reaching to take the talisman from his out stretched hand. "I thought I was feeling rather exposed today. I must have left at your place after my shower."

"Here, allow me," Jefferson insisted she turn around. Draping the chain around her neck he fastened the clasp and let the heavy silver pendant drop slightly so it rest proudly on her chest. "It's a lovely piece," he observed. "Pure silver?"

"Thank you," March toyed with the pendant between her fingers absently. "Sterling, actually. I've had it since I can remember. I think it was a gift from my grandparents, when I was born, I guess it belonged to somebody important in our family once upon a time, I don't know."

"So it's a family heirloom then," chuckled Jefferson. "Well I'm glad I could return it to you then. What crest is that? I feel like I've seen it before," he pondered, wondering where in all his travels he'd seen such a seal. His mind came up blank, but he knew it was familiar.

"I don't know," March shrugged. "All I can tell you is that it says, neither regret the past nor fear the future. It's a nice message – don't you think?"

"Yeah, it is," he forced a puzzled smile. He'd been staring at that pendant all day, wondering why she didn't run, and he never saw any words anywhere on that piece. Perhaps he'd simply missed them, though he swore he had every detail of that necklace memorized.

"Thank you so much for bringing it back. How can I repay you?"

"Hmmm," Jefferson pondered with a mischievous grin. "Well, I already got a free cup of tea. So, I guess you can start with lending me some of the books on your list," he pulled out the folded note from his jacket pocket and slid it across the counter towards March.

Rereading the list March looked up at Jefferson, and chuckled. "You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can manage something. Watch the store for a few minutes?"

Jefferson looked around the empty store then back to March. With a flourish he bowed, chuckling as he heard March's giggle. "As you wish m'lady."

"I'll be right back," she assured him as she head out the front door.

She figured it had been a while since he had anything half way decent to read, so she'd have to ease him into her world, slowly. As her eyes scanned her bookshelf she was torn between grabbing the Hobbit, and any one of her Agatha Christie novels. Something told March, and she weighed each book in her palm, that the genre of Fantasy wasn't really a thing back in Jefferson's homeland – probably a bit too much like reality. Perhaps he wouldn't like the Hobbit, if it reminded him too much of his life back in the Enchanted Forest. Quietly she hoped he would talk more of his home; it all sounded just too wonderful, far more interesting than stuffy old London. Still, the Hobbit was a fantastic story that everyone should read at least once in their lifetime, but how could anyone not love Miss Marple? She was a sassy little old lady who knit and solved murders – aka everything March aspired to be when she was in her seventies.

Declaring it a tie, she decided to bring a couple back down with her. Let Jefferson make the choice. Besides, if he were a fast reader then perhaps he'd pick both and be ready for more the next time they saw one another, once he started reading she could make better recommendations rather than just tossing him what she liked to read, but she had a good feeling about the Hobbit.

The indistinct rattling in the corner, and subsequent shuffling of wood shavings caught March's attention. Looking up from her bookcase she caught Percy creating a ruckus, in a desperate bid for her attention, in his cage.

"Hey boy," she cooed stepping towards the hatch. "You want to go to work with me?" she added in a soothing tone as she reached in to pull the rabbit out.

The second he was in her arms, Percy rolled on to his back, effectively snuggling into March's arms and exposing his snowy belly for her to rub. He pressed the flat top of his head into the bent crook of her elbow while nuzzling his pink nose into her bosom. His hind leg kicked softly as she scratched behind his ear, giving his consent to her proposal.

"Jefferson's down there," she added slowly. "You like him, don't you?"

The rabbit continued kicking after taking a brief pause, as though he were trying to place a face to the name. March could practically hear him go, " Jefferson . . . Jefferson . . . ah yes, Mr. Maybelline. He's okay."

"You want to come down and say hi?"

'If it gets me out of this bloody flat,' Percy's nose twitched eagerly in response.

Gathering up her books in one hand, and rabbit in the other, March returned to the shop where she found everything exactly where she left it, including Jefferson. Sitting on the back counter, drumming his fingers anxiously awaiting her return. Hearing the chimes of the front door his head popped up from where it's been staring intently on the ground, and a grin broke out the second he saw Percy snuggled up in March's arm.

"Go on," she encouraged as she bent down to place Percy on the floor. "Run, be free." Percy looked up at her, nose twitching, giving her the rabbit equivalent of an eye roll before bounding over towards Jefferson behind the counter.

Chuckling, Jefferson hopped down with feline like grace, careful not to step of the rabbit with his bulky boots. Bending down, he held his hand out for Percy to sniff before proceeding to scratch him behind his ear. Percy ignored the hand and began circling the black boot before head butting the leg attached. When Jefferson didn't get the hint that Percy was wanting more than just his ear scratched, he started licking and biting at the top of the boot.

"He wants you to pick him up," March explained setting the books down on the counter in front of them. "He's feeling quite sucky right now – probably a bit miffed at me for leaving him in his cage today. Isn't that right," she cooed looking down at the rabbit, who stopped to look at her briefly before continuing his quest for attention.

"Here you go," Jefferson exhaled as he scooped the rabbit up in his arms, cradling the ball of fluff close to his chest. Instantly he was covered in a thin dusting of white rabbit fur, not that Jefferson seemed to actually mind. "This was what you wanted little guy?" he cooed affectionately. Immediately, Percy shut his eyes, pushing his head into Jefferson's open palm.

Smiling, March watched the way Percy snuggled into Jefferson's arm, the same way he had in hers not long before, and wondered what it was about the hatter that had the rabbit feeling so comfortable around him. It was a relief to know her rabbit reciprocated the good feeling she had about Jefferson. She was about to make a smart remark about being replaced when it started. Her vision began blurring and someone seemed to have turned the lights up to a blinding level that forced her eyes to scrunch shut if she wanted to avoid burning her retinas. Pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand she kept her eyes shut, while the other hand clutched the counter readying herself for the pain about to come ripping through her head.

From the corner of his eye Jefferson caught March rubbing the side of her head as groaned mildly under her breath. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the counter as though for dear life itself. Setting Percy down on the counter he bridged the distance between them slightly.

"Everything okay?" He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. Percy had already hopped over to March, putting himself between her and Jefferson. The rabbit immediately began head butting March's arms and rubbing the side of his face against her arms.

With a pained whimper March tried nodding her head, but quickly stopped as the throbbing increased. "Migraine," she whispered softly under her breath, trying to ease Jefferson's mind. On a scale of one to ten, March would have rated this one a twelve; while it definitely wasn't her worst migraines it was still one of her more painful ones.

"What can I do?" Jefferson offered urgently, desperate to help alleviate March's pain in any way he could.

March moved her hand from the counter to wave off the offer when a fresh wave of pain surged to her head, causing her to double over. Immediately, Jefferson slid his hand in hers so she had something to hold on to as she dealt with the pain. Grateful, she squeezed, brushing her fingers against the metal of his rings, as new realms of pain throbbed in blinding flashes of white-hot agony.

"Come on, let's get you sitting down," he insisted, guiding March towards the cushioned chairs in the corner. "Easy does it," he helped her settle down in the chair before flicking off the light switch by the door. Under the cover of darkness, save for the dim light pouring in from the storefront window, Jefferson found his way back to March's side, sitting awkwardly on the arm of her seat. "Afraid I can't do much about those," he gestured to the lampposts lining the street.

March forced a smile, "thank you," she breathed through gritted teeth praying the pain would soon subside.

"What are friends for?" replied Jefferson with an uneasy grin. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Percy?" March cracked an eye open in her rabbit's direction. "He worries when this happens."

Teetering off from his perch, Jefferson strode back to the counter where Percy kept hopping about frantically. He'd hop to one side of the counter, then to the other, before looking over the counter, as though mentally calculating if her could make the jump to the ground with relative safety. The moment Jefferson approached he launched himself full throttle into the hatter's arms with a small 'oof' from Jefferson. Just as quickly as he hopped into his arms, Percival scrambled back out, landing on March's lap. Immediately he leaned up, little nose twitching, snuffling his nose against her chin and face before nuzzling in against her body. His entire body went rigid, as he curled up against her – but it wasn't to snuggle. He looked as though he were ready to fly on the attack in a second's noticed if anyone were to try harming March in her vulnerable state.

Jefferson watched, amazed, by the rabbit's transformation. He stood watch over March, protecting her as though he were her personal bodyguard. Slightly panicked at what Percy might do if he tried sitting on March's chair with her again, Jefferson settled for the chair next to hers. Lost to help her further he sat and watched, waiting for any sign the pain that seemed to come from nowhere was either worsening, or alleviating.

He didn't have long to wait. Shortly after sinking into his chair, March's breathing eased up slightly. Her pale eyes fluttered back open, and while she avoided looking directly at the light, he could hear her slight sigh of content. She still had the brief tremor of pain, but the worse of it was now over.

"Where were we?" March asked, looking Jefferson in the eye for the first time since her little episode began.

"Um . . ." Jefferson hesitated. "We were talking about Percy, and you were getting me books . . . are you sure you're okay? Do you have something you can take for them? Or a hospital . . . " He gestured towards the door, offering to take her if need be.

"Nothing helps," she sighed, stroking Percival's snowy coat. Leaning her head back she rested her eyes for a second. Every time after an episode she felt an overwhelming exhaustion sweep over her, as though sleeping would clear away any remnants of the migraine. It didn't. She tried. The pain was still there, but at least it was back down to level bearable enough to work with for the time being.

"You get these often?"

"Let's just say it's an off week if I don't get at least three," March chuckled morosely. "Doctors don't know what it is," she added before he had a chance to ask. "I've been getting them since I can remember. Fine one moment, doubled over in agony the next. Mum had lots of fun trying to explain that one to the other parents when they'd call in a panic – didn't have too many play dates after word got out."

"But you're okay now?" Jefferson persisted, still slightly concerned by what he'd seen. After witnessing her little episode he'd gladly take the madness in his own head any day. At least that was only emotionally painful – nothing physical.

"I'm never okay," she admitted bitterly. "The buzzing never stops. It's like having a fine tuned laser pointed on a part of your brain, burrowing a hole a little bit deeper every day. Most days it's bearable, you can contain it, then out of nowhere it's like some sick sadistic little jack-a-nape decides to crank it from a three to a twelve, and suddenly an ice pick through the eye doesn't sound so bad if it'll make the pain stop." Rolling her eyes to one side, she caught the mildly disturbed look on Jefferson's face. Chuckling, March added, "suddenly the telescope thing doesn't seem so bad, does it?"

"Certainly not," Jefferson agreed with a gulp. "There's nothing you can do for them?"

"Not really. Just easier to bite down and bear it, wait for it to be over and move on. Admittedly, that was a bad one – they're usually not so extreme." Looking over at him she chewed on something in the back of her mind. Finally she asked, "did you mean it earlier – when you said what are friends for – are we… friends?"

"Well… yeah." Jefferson shrugged at the question thinking the answer rather obvious. He revealed more to her in the three times they'd interacted, than he had to anyone else in town over the past twenty-eight years. She was also the only person in town aside from Regina who didn't consider him mad on account of the curse.

"I'd like to think of you as a friend. We get on well enough, and we're both a little different, most people find us a little crazy. I think we kind of need each other."

Excited, March looked down at the fluff ball now napping in her lap and grinned before letting out little laugh. "You heard that Percy – we've got a friend. Here." That brought her grand total of friends up to a whopping three. A record. "I'd like that," she nodded enthusiastically, accepting his offer of friendship.

"Take it you don't have many of those," Jefferson chuckled based on her reaction. One might almost be inclined to believe she'd never had a friend before, judging from the eager smile she flashed in his direction.

"Three. Now. Thanks to you. My other two are in LA."

"You don't have any at home?" he wondered curiously. How could someone so sweet not have more friends? Then again he was one to judge. In the whole town he now had one friend. One. That's it. Even before the curse he didn't really have friends, he had business associates, and people he was friendly towards, but never any real friends. March seemed like a safe first though.

"Mostly just colleagues, I'm afraid. People mostly just put up with me, until it's safe to talk about me behind my back. It's all very Luna Lovegood actually. I just haven't found my silver trio yet. But that's fine, doesn't bother me much, really"

"Harry Potter?" Jefferson asked with an arch of his brow. It was either that, or Tolkien – those were her favourite references to make.

"Hey, you got one," she beamed at him through the shadows. "Have you had supper?" she asked finally getting up from the chair, still cradling Percy against her body, to go flick the lights back on.

"Nope," Jefferson shook his head slightly. He hadn't been hungry until she said something – now all he think about was how famished he'd been.

"Why don't I go pick us up something from Granny's – we can eat in the back room."

"That sounds great," Jefferson agreed. He'd eaten at Granny's several times over the years, and always enjoyed the food there, but that was prior to the Emma incident. Now he avoided the place above all others in fear of running into her again and getting a matching pair of metal bracelets slapped on his wrists. "You order - I pay?" he offered digging out his wallet, sliding March a couple of twenty-dollar bills.

"That's really not necessary - I can pay," March insisted trying to wave off the money in his outstretched hand.

"Nonsense, I insist," Jefferson refused to retract his hand until she took the money. With a begrudging look, March accepted the payment and complained it was too much but Jefferson refused to accept anything back. "You can get it next time," he promised.

"Very well then," She grumbled sticking the folded bills in the back pocket of her jeans. "You have any idea what you want?" she wondered grabbing her mobile from where she left it by the register. For the better part of an hour she'd been craving one of Granny's veggie burgers with chips, besides, eating after a migraine almost always helped her feel better.

"What are you getting?" he asked out of mild curiosity.

"Veggie burger with chips."

"Chips?" he asked curiously with a chuckle. "Burger sounds good though," Jefferson shrugged casually. He could scarce remember the last time he had a burger he didn't have to cook for himself. Granny had good burgers and her fries were all but to die for. They certainly didn't have food like that back in the forest - one of the few things he preferred in this world, the food and the health care. It was nice being able to get a cut, and not having to worry about dying from the subsequent infection.

"Fries. Sorry – we call them chips back home." March explained with a quick shake of her head, once she figured out why he had been baffled by the phrase, chips. Even after her four years living in LA, she still struggled with the American vernacular. Tony always lost it, howling with laughter, every time she asked him to pass her the box of biscuits or a bag of crisps.

"Heh - I always thought that was just a stereotype they exaggerated in movies."

"You get movies here, but you don't have books?" chuckled March astonished. Seemed strange to have one without the other. Stories were stories - did it really matter if they were in print or film, they still carried a certain power to them.

"Yes, because Bridget Jones' diary is about to cripple the Queen's reign," Jefferson rolled his eyes. Only certain movies played on the television sets, the same damn movies, month after month, year after year. It had been three since he beat his television set to death with a fire poker out of sheer frustration. Even he could only take so much of Hugh Grant's smarmy smile, and cleft chin.

"Well, you know why they cast Colin Firth to play Darcy right?" March teased as she headed towards the door, mentally bracing herself for the chill. When she saw Jefferson stare blankly back at her she shook her head and explained. "He was the Mr. Darcy in the 1995, six hour rendition of Pride and Prejudice." Still Jefferson stared blankly at her. Evidently while Bridget Jones' diary posed no threat, the original, Pride and Prejudice screamed for revolution. "Stick with me," she assured Jefferson with a sigh, "I'll show you a whole new world." Giggling at her reference to Aladdin, March grinned at Jefferson, promising to be back soon she headed off into the cold to get their dinner.

* * *

Twenty minutes later she returned to the shop with a large brown paper bag with their dinner inside. She would have been back sooner, if she didn't have to keep dodging Ruby's constant questioning as to who the other burger was for. When she finally said it was for a friend that started Ruby on a whole other line of questions. Mercifully Granny called out March's order before she had to find a new way to stall. Grabbing the bag she smiled, and tipped Ruby before darting out the door.

"Just try it," March laughed as Jefferson stared at the chip in her hands with a horrified face. He had been curious when she produced a bottle of mayo from the back room – wondering if they hadn't put enough on her burger. When March explained the Mayo was for her chips Jefferson looked as though he was about to lose his lunch.

"What's wrong with ketchup?" he wondered, watching her as she dipped the fry in the mayo before popping it in her mouth.

"Ketchup is boring and unimaginative – besides, this is how we eat chips in Germany."

"I keep forgetting you're German," he admitted whilst watching her eat another fry. This time is was drenched in vinegar. Apparently March liked to eat her fries half German half English – just like her. She split the fries into two piles, soaking one half of the fries in her cardboard take out box in vinegar, and creating a pile of mayo on the other corner for dipping.

"It's the accent. Fools everyone," she commented playfully. The sound of the kettle screaming kept her from saying more. They never actually made it into the back room for dinner. Instead, they spread out their meagre feast on her marble counter top and settled for leaning against the bar whilst eating.

"Either way, fries with mayo just looks unnatural," Jefferson grimaced, looking at the depleted glob of mayo in her take out container.

"That's because both chips and mayo are unnatural," March laughed in response. "But if it weirds you out, just close your eyes."

"Knowing my luck, I'll end up with mayo on my face," Jefferson chuckled as he finished off the last bit of tea, passing March the cup for a refill.

"Close your eyes," March instructed between fits of giggles. Jefferson, surprisingly, did as he was told. He figured it was just easier to give into the shop owner's demands, especially if he wanted to maintain his tea connection.

Waiting, he sat in anticipation. He could hear the rustle of fries move against cardboard as March dug out one from her diminished pile. Dipping it in the mayo she leaned forward in his direction and placed the fry gently in his mouth.

"There," she announced, signalling for him to close. "And?" she asked eagerly not bothering to wait for him to chew. "What do you think?"

Closing his mouth, Jefferson chewed and swallowed. With his eyes still closed he cocked his head to the side for a brief second, deep in contemplation as if she'd just asked him to answer the meaning of life.

"Well, it appears as though I owe the German's an apology," he announced, opening an eye, seeing the clear look of delight painted on her face. Something about the way in which she smiled, it seemed to turn a light on beneath her skin, illuminating her whole face.

"Told you you'd like it," she grinned triumphantly before popping another vinegar soaked chip in her mouth.

"You were right," he grinned back at her, conceding defeat. It felt good, laughing again, and being around someone who genuinely seemed to enjoy being in his company. Jefferson almost felt like a young man again, back when the world was still fresh and exciting, and he wanted a taste of all the fruit it had to offer – a lifetime ago really.

Just like it had been the first time he walked through her doors, the hours faded in to one another as the two conversed about whatever came to mind. If they still used candles, instead of overhead light fixtures to light the night, they would be burned to the wick with large reservoirs of melted wax pooling around the base. Now the light of the near full moon lit the night sky filling it with silver light so bright it almost rendered the antiquated streetlights outside useless.

Staring out her window to the empty streets beyond her stoop, seeing the moon and stars acting as torch for all those caught outside on the clear night, and listening to Jefferson's tales of life in the forest, March couldn't help but lose herself in the thoughts of what life must have been like without all the modern conveniences she was so accustomed to in the twenty-first century. What kind of life could someone such as herself have in a place or time like that? No internet, no movies, no novels – as much as she loved attending Renaissance fairs, there was no way she could see herself living the way Jefferson had. She admired him for that, for not only thriving in that lifestyle, but also for adapting as well as he had to this world, her world. Back when she began her travels, after the assault, she struggled a bit with some of the more isolated villages, but it became easier with time, and the sweet promise that she would eventually return to 'her world' of luxury.

Still, it had been an adventure, which was exactly what she had been in search for at the time, and it certainly gave her a new outlook on life, and fresh perspective of who she was and what she wanted form this life. In the moment, sitting on the counter of her store across from Jefferson as he continued regaling her of life in Storybrooke since their arrival, she was almost certain Storybrooke was the right place to find what she wanted. Roots. Barely more than a month in town, and she felt a serene calm rippling through her from the pit of her stomach the likes of which she'd never experienced before. She could see herself making a life for herself in a place like Storybrooke, more so here than she had in LA.

"I should probably head for home," Jefferson announced after noticing the time on his pocket watch. Not only did he wear cravats and waistcoats with his eyeliner, but he also carried around an old styled pocket watch. If that wasn't a sign he was truly from, if not another world then at least a different time, March didn't know what was. "I've been talking your ear off," he added with a slight chuckle.

"Don't worry about it," March smiled congenially at him. "It's not a bother. I find it all rather fascinating."

"I know," Jefferson groaned at her, "As if that wasn't cause enough for concern," he added with a smarmy grin. "But it's getting close to Grace's bed time, and I don't want to miss tucking her in," he explained, hopping off the counter. "This was fun," he added turning to look at the shop owner, his new friend," as she started clearing away their dirty mugs from the counter. She'd give them a run through the dishwasher in the back come morning.

"I think so too," agreed March cheerily. "We should do this again," she added after a second.

"I'd like that," Jefferson agreed.

"Well you are always more than welcome here, and I'm always willing to put tea on," Marched smiled congenially at him. Walking Jefferson to the door she handed Jefferson his coat from where he left it on the counter. "Oh, and Jefferson," she added popping her head up, catching his eye with her own.

"Yeah?" he wondered whilst shrugging into his coat.

"If I ever find out you've been watching me with that telescope again, I will not think twice about taking it and beating you upside the head with it," she warned sternly in a voice and a hard glint in her eye that suggested she was not to be trifled with on the matter. Taking a deep breath her shoulders rolled forward slightly as her face softened. "If there is ever anything you want to know about me – just ask. I promise I'll be one hundred percent honest with you, if you only ask. Does that sound like a deal?" she wondered, resting one shoulder against the open door as Jefferson stood on the stoop outside.

"I think that'll be doable," he agreed with an abrupt nod of his head. "Total honesty," he struck his right hand forward. He was relieved when March took his hand and gave it a firm shake, sealing their agreement. "Maybe I'll run into you in the woods tomorrow," he added with an eager grin before turning to start the walk back to his house. He needed the cool air to clear his mind.

"Not tomorrow I'm afraid," March replied, watching him from her doorframe. The words she said next beat the wind in sending a chill down Jefferson's spine as his blood turned cold. "I have a meeting with the mayor in her office, tomorrow morning around eleven – apparently I've been summoned."

Turning back around, Jefferson marched March back into her store closing the door behind him. "What?" he demanded sternly. "What does she want?"

"I don't know," March shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the dramatic change in Jefferson's demeanour. "I mean I've been here for nearly a month, so it's a bit late to be rolling out the welcome wagon. It's probably just some bureaucratic immigration nonsense. Don't worry – it'll be fine, all my papers are in order."

"Is there any way you can get out of meeting with her?" Jefferson chewed at his bottom lip furiously to the point where the taste of blood met his tongue as he licked his lips.

"I can't, no," March shrugged apologetically. "From everything I've heard, she has quite the temper. I don't want to be drawing any negative attention from her."

March made a compelling argument. To cancel on Regina now would surely tip off the conniving witch that something was off about March, then she might start looking into her. He couldn't have that. The last thing March needed was to have Regina sniffing around, looking for a reason to hurt her.

"Whatever happens, don't believe a word she says. Number one rule of Storybrooke?"

"Don't trust the mayor," March repeated with a tiny reassuring smile, recalling the advice Jefferson gave her the first night they met. "I will trust the woman as much a Sam trusted Gollum," she grinned, crossing her heart.

Blankly Jefferson stared back at her, not comprehending who Sam was, or what the hell was a Gollum, but he had a feeling from the way she spoke, Sam didn't trust this Gollum thing, and he took comfort in that. Taking her by the shoulders, Jefferson brushed his thumbs up and down her arms. "Just be careful," he pleaded with soft drawn eyes.

"I promise," March replied, attempting to reassure him that she could handle herself. "Would you get going? You'll miss your daughter's bed time," she ushered him back out the door.

"I mean it March. Be careful around her. I don't want you getting hurt because of her," Jefferson whispered as he pulled her in for a hug.

"Everything will be fine," she assured him with a gentle pat on the back. Jefferson let go, and with a final smile good-bye, he wandered out into the night. March watched form the safety of her shop until he was too far gone to see.

Turning back to face Percy she smiled, scooping the bundle of fur into her arms. Stroking his snowy pelt she set him back down by the counter as she finished tidying, and retired up stairs for the night.


	8. Meeting Madam Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March finally meets Regina, and gets a bit of a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as it's my birthday, I'm feeling generous - so here is Feb's chapter a week early :) Hope you guys like it... it's a bit on the shorter side.... sorry.

“Oh no, what are you doing here?” Henry stammered, bewildered, when he opened the door to his mum’s office. He had the day off from school for some odd reason, and was helping his mum around the office.

“Your mum invited me here,” March explained as Henry led her into the waiting area. Not knowing what mayor Mills wanted, she came prepared with just about everything she had – immigration papers, ownership papers, family trees, a bank statement, even her old Uni id badges... everything.

“That’s not good,” Henry gulped. “You think she knows?” he wondered in a slight panic. “About operation cobra, and that you’re apart of it,” he clarified in a low whisper.

“Doubtful,” she replied in the same hushed tone. “I mean I haven’t actually done anything with the operation. It’s probably just stuff about the business,” she assured the kid. Noticing the book bag discarded in the corner with a few books sticking out she jutted her chin in its direction. “What are you reading?”

“Just some boring history book my mom gave me,” he mumbled. “We probably shouldn’t talk. She’s got someone else in there for now, but they could come out any minute.” He backed away from March, trying to keep a safe distance as to not alert his mom to anything. “I’ll talk to you later – okay?” he proceeded to dash out of the room before she actually had a chance to respond to his question – leaving her alone in the strange waiting room outside the main office.

Dropping her satchel on the expensive looking white leather couch, March looked around, taking in the sights around her. Something about the mayor’s office left March feeling extremely uncomfortable. Everything was decorated in stark black and white, giving the entire room a cold, harsh feeling; there was nothing of colour to channel any kind of warmth or emotion into the room. The expensive furnishings, along with the 100% Italian leather sofa, indicated to March that whoever the mayor was, she came from money. 

 _I suppose this is New England,_ she thought as she wandered about absent-mindedly studying the objects on a near by mantel. This is the part of the country where the ‘old’ wealthy families lived. New England was to America as Surrey was to England; littered with summer homes and beach houses for people to vacation by the ocean when the hum drum of their ordinary lives was too much to handle – it was not an area for people on a budget to be living.

The room reminded March of the general feeling around Hogwarts when Snape took over as head master. Everything became dark, drab, and disconnected. She wanted to get out of the office as soon as possible, and mentally willed the mayor to come out so she could get this appointment done and over with. Afterwards, she would return to her store, lock the doors, and gorge on the carrot cake she purchased from the bakery, and drink tea until the bad feelings were gone from her system.

When the polished black doors still refused to open, March returned to inspecting the baubles Mayor Mills used in her decorating. One item on the mantel caught her interest. Resting in a ceramic dish sat a glass ball that appeared to have caught dark grey smoke inside of it. Aside from its stark colours, it reminded March of the remembrall Neville received from his grandmother in the first book. Smiling, she looked at it a bit more intensely; secretly hoping the smoke inside the glass would change colours. Sadly nothing happened.

Just as she reached to set the orb back on its stand, the door unlocked, diverting her attention. Looking over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the source of the noise, she was surprised by what she saw. Following a petite brunette with her hair in a stylish medium length bob was a very familiar pair of blue eyes accentuated by black eyeliner.

“Jefferson?” she called softly, smiling suddenly. It was a lovely, unexpected surprise.

Turning to face her, Jefferson shot her a strange, dark look. Even with the strange look behind his eyes he smiled at her, and was dressed handsomely in a crisp black shirt and waistcoat with blue brocade with matching grey silk cravat. Distracted by the surprise of seeing Jefferson with the mayor, March accidentally missed the mantel entirely, and the sound of her mistake echoed through the office with a heart stopping shatter.

“Bloody hell,” she gasped seeing the dozens of broken shards scattered on the floor. “I am so sorry. I hope that was just really expensive, and not a priceless family heirloom,” March gasped, kneeling on the polished white floors picking up the broken pieces, cutting her fingers on a loose piece of glass in her haste.

“Just a couple hundred dollars,” Regina glared pointedly at her with a thin smile.

“Oh,” March let out a small sigh of relief. “You don’t happen to take cheques by chance, do you?” she asked nervously, rolling her bottom lip through her teeth. “I’m afraid I left my pile of fifties and hundreds in my other billfold,” she chuckled nervously. This was not the kind of start she needed with a woman of the mayor’s reputation.

“It’s fine,” Regina replied with a forced smile. “So sorry to keep you waiting miss,” she paused, realizing she didn’t actually know what to call the tea shop owner. Looking at her mobile she saw the name in her scheduler, “Ah yes, Miss. Hass.”

“Hase,” March corrected. “You pronounce the ‘e’ at the end. Hass means hate in German. Hase means hare, like a rabbit. Not hair like the stuff on your head. That’s Haare.”

“Yes, well thank you for the language lesson I don’t recall asking for,” Regina replied sharply. “Do you two know each other?” She asked motioning between March and Jefferson.

“No,” Jefferson lied, shrugging casually.

“Jefferson’s just come into the shop once or twice,” March explained with a nervous smile, bull dozing over his lie. Oops. Grabbing her satchel she took a couple steps towards them. “I am so sorry about the orb,” she apologized to the mayor once more. “Not exactly a brilliant start. Can we try again? Hello, my name’s March,” she extended her hand in a friendly manner, with a sincere smile, but not too big. She didn’t want to set off the ‘crazy eyes.’

“Regina,” she took March’s hand, giving it a firm, hard shake.

“Regina?” March repeated to herself.

Jefferson could practically see the cogs begin turning in March’s head, as her smile grew bigger. Quickly his expression turned to panic, and he started shaking his head form behind Regina, hoping March would catch it. He recognized that look on her face. His heart raced as he heard her start chuckling.

“Lovely to meet you, your majesty,” March blurted out giddily, giving the mayor a slight bow.

“Excuse me?” Regina asked with a clipped voice as her eyes narrowed, unamused by March's peculiar behaviour.

“Queen,” March giggled looking around the room, oblivious to Jefferson’s panic and Regina’s suspicion. When March noticed they weren’t giggling the same way she was, her smile fell heart breakingly from her face. “Regina is Latin for Queen. Quite an appropriate name for someone in a position of leadership, you were very aptly named,” she said looking down suddenly, like a scolded child.

“How very interesting,” Regina offered some kind of twisted smile, the kind she saved for when she wanted something, and was willing to do anything to get it. “Please just give me a minute to tidy my desk before we start our little chat.” She turned to face Jefferson, and added curtly, “ I’m sure you can find your way out.”

“Already looking for it.” Jefferson didn’t move until her heard the door click shut behind Regina. Once he knew Regina was tucked away inside he turned back to find March berating herself on the floor trying to pick up the shattered pieces of the orb.

“Well that was just bloody brilliant March. Just perfect,” she chided under her breath. "Yes, lets break the Queen’s possessions then start babbling like a baboon. That’s the way to make a good first impression. You never should have gotten out of bed this morning. Seriously, why are you still allowed around people?"

“Hey,” he whispered, crouching down next to her, careful not to step on any of the pieces that travelled any distance. “It’s okay,” he assured her by placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm, and comfort her. She stopped for a brief second, and looked at him, as though she were about to cry but gave him a meagre smile when she saw him looking at her. “You want a cup of tea or something?” he offered trying to further calm her. She couldn’t meet Regina like this, not when she was this upset and on edge, it wouldn’t be safe for her.

“That would be lovely,” she sniffed. “Oh Gods, I can’t believe I did that,” she added shaking slightly.

“It’s okay,” he repeated giving her shoulder a firm squeeze. “I probably didn’t help, last night. I shouldn’t have scared you the way I did,” he added, offering her his hand, helping her to her feet. “I have some of the tea you gave me last night,” he added with a reassuring smile, handing her his travel mug.

“Thank you,” March smiled appreciatively at him. Opening the lid to the thermos she inhaled the sweet smell of coconut and peppermint. She could already feel herself grow calmer. In her mad dash not to be late, she had forgotten to brew herself a cup this morning, and the effect was a neurotic, on edge version of herself… well, more than usual. March without her morning cup of tea was like a normal person without coffee. She smiled as she took a sip before handing the thermos back to Jefferson. She didn’t want to be drinking all of his tea on him when she had plenty more of it back at the shop. She was lucky he happened to be here before her appointment with Regina.

Looking at the thermos in Jefferson’s hand a thought came to her. If he mistrusted and feared her so much – why was he here? Looking at Jefferson she opened her mouth to ask him that very question, but she found it difficult to talk, like her mouth had been filled with cotton. She felt like she did back in uni, the morning after she’d stay up all night writing her papers with nothing but copious amounts of tea to keep her awake. The exhaustion hit her hard, and sudden, like one of her headaches, and she found herself too tired to talk, even standing wash exhausting. Blinking hard she tried to clear her mind – she didn’t need to make things worse with Regina. _Pull it together Hase_ she screamed internally. She tried taking a step towards the couch – maybe if she sat down for a spell she’d be okay.

“Whoa – you okay there?” Jefferson asked, catching her before she tumbled to the ground.

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t. She was exhausted, just trying to keep her eyes open was a losing battle. Her limbs felt like jelly, and the world seemed to be, as the Doctor would say, ‘a ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff.’

“It’s okay. I got you,” Jefferson held her in his arms before she blacked out.

Once he was sure March was out, he helped her over to the couch setting her down gently he looked at her with a sad smile. _I'm so sorry._ _Please forgive me,_ he pleaded before grabbing the thermos of tea he brought with him as a precaution – in case something like this happened. Opening the nearest window, Jefferson unscrewed the thermos lid and dumped the tainted tea out into the flowerbeds before closing it up and fastening the window after him. He then nestled the thermos in March’s satchel.

A couple seconds later Regina popped her head out the door, calling March in. When she saw the shop owner laying unconscious on the couch with Jefferson kneeling beside her, trying to wake her, she stepped out to investigate.

“What the hell’s happened now?” Regina demanded, stamping the top of her black leather pump on the polished marble floor.

“I don’t know,” Jefferson looked at her innocently. “I was just heading out the door when I heard her collapse. I think she’s fainted.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Regina grumbled crossly. “Do you know what set it off? You seem to know her.”

“I’d hardly say that,” Jefferson lied with a shrug. “Probably nerves – she seemed quite jittery after breaking that glass… thing. I should probably take her home,” he added after a brief pause.

“Why don’t you do that,” Regina sneered. She didn’t have time to be dealing with this right now – not with Emma still in town, and still trying to take Henry. She’d deal with the shop owner later. Right now she wanted Jefferson out of her sight. He had already come in with some idiot excuse to waste her time.

Not needing to be told twice, and not wanting to give Regina a chance to change her mind, or suggest he take March to the hospital, Jefferson scooped the unconscious woman up in his arms carrying her out to his car.


	9. Wake Up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March wakes up after passing out in Regina's office, to discover she has no idea where she is or how she got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually broke up the last bit into two pieces so I'd still have something to post for the first of the month like always.... So again this is gonna be a bit shorter than usual, and for that I apologize... but I hope you guys enjoy.

The first thing March noticed when she opened her eyes was the feeling of strange blankets wrapped around her. The next thing she noticed was the strange four-poster bed she appeared to be laying in. If she didn't know any better she could have sworn she had been tucked into bed, as if she had gone down for what felt like an impossibly long, deep, sleep. That thought was cut off by the presence of a raging headache; only this wasn't like the others. This was more like the kind of headaches she used to get when she was hungover after one of the department holiday parties.

Slowly, she tried sitting up in the plush queen sized bed and desperately tried to recall the last thing she remembered but the pounding in her head was too much and the more she tried to focus the more her head throbbed, railing against her. She felt her body sway slightly once she was in a relatively upright position. Once the room stopped spinning she threw the blankets off and set her feet on the floor. Not entirely trusting her legs to support her weight, she scooted towards the foot of the bed. Gripping the post of the bed she pulled herself into a standing position.

 _So far so good,_ March thought optimistically. Imbued with the same quiet, determined stubbornness as her mother, March fought the feeling that she should sit back down before bringing up her breakfast smoothie all over the throw rug beneath the bed. Instead she forced herself into taking a step, then another. She made it maybe a quarter of the way to the door, but with every step she took the further the door seemed. She was slowly becoming convinced the room was in some way growing, when she heard a startled, "You're up."

Turning her head in the direction of the voice March saw none other than Jefferson watching her with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the white doorframe. She wondered how long he'd been there watching her. Had he just come across her as she stumbled towards the other door, or had he been watching her the whole time and only now decided to comment? Either way, in her hazy state she was just relieved to see him. Though nothing here seemed to make any sense. If Jefferson was in the doorway to the hallway, where did the other door go? Looking back at the bed, she realized those tremendous steps she'd made towards the door literally only took her maybe two feet away from the bed. Confused and disorientated she collapsed back onto the bed with a slight bounce.

"Oh, easy does it," Jefferson rushed to her side, mildly alarmed by her collapse. "Come on, "I'll help you up."

"Where... where am I? How did I get here?" she asked still half groggy. Wiping her eyes and cheeks she looked back. "How did you get in here? The door is that way," she lifted an unsteady hand in the direction of the door she had been trying to make her way towards.

"Yeah – that's a closet," Jefferson explained with a chuckle and sympathetic smile. "I brought you back to my place after you passed out in Regina's office. You don't remember?"

"No," March confessed in disbelief. "I didn't, by chance, hit my head when I collapsed? Did I?"

"Not that I could tell. Why?"

"Nothing. Just feels like I've been hit upside the head with Kookaburra Angry Beast."

"A what?" Jefferson asked mildly amused, but ultimately confused by the term.

"It's a cricket bat," March explained as she rubbed her eyes. Her mind was gradually easing it self out of the fog induced by her accident.

Missing the curious glint in his eyes, Jefferson wondered if she had been speaking metaphorically, or if she'd actually been hit by a cricket bat before; she had been awfully specific about the brand name. He didn't press her on it though. If she wanted to talk about it he'd let her, but he didn't want to make matters worse for her. Coming out from the haze was always unpleasant, no matter how many times you did it.

"Come on, lets get you out into the living room," he suggested helping her back onto her feet. "You can lean on me," he added.

"Thanks," she smiled appreciatively in his direction as she draped an arm around his neck. Together they took slow, cautious steps down the hall, until Jefferson was easing her down on to the couch. Afterwards, he draped a blanket around her, insisting she bring her feet up on the couch, and just relax. Looking at the table next to her March grinned in spite of herself. "You've been reading the Hobbit?" she asked excitedly picking up the familiar, dog-eared, worn out paperback.

"Yeah," Jefferson nodded crashing down on the couch next to her. "I'm loving it," he admitted with a grin. "Reminds me a bit of home – without the anxiety." He continued for a bit, explaining everything he liked about the book so far. It had been a while since he'd read anything for pleasure, so he was taking his time with it.

"Well remind me and I'll bring over Lord of the Rings next – it's kind of like a follow up trilogy to the Hobbit. Oh, and then there are the movies," she added excitedly, adjusting on the couch.

"Movies?"

"Yes. The entire trilogy was adapted into a movie series about ten years ago, and later this year the first Hobbit movie comes out." She danced excitedly on the spot. "They're absolutely fantastic – I watch them all the time."

"And you don't get bored?"

"Never," she gasped, scandalized by the very insinuation. "That's like saying you could get bored with Harry Potter or Game of Thrones."

Chuckling Jefferson got up from the couch. "I'm going to make a cup of tea – you want one?"

Smiling, March nodded until she stopped suddenly. _You want a cup of tea or something_. Those were his words, back at Regina's office. The last thing she remembered before the hazy feeling set in was accepting Jefferson's offer of tea and taking a sip from his thermos. She remembered something tasting of, she'd made that blend for herself in the past, but there was something different about it this morning she couldn't quite pinpoint, but she'd fainted before she had a chance to ask Jefferson what he'd added to it.

The happy relaxed feeling quickly retreated and she was chilled down to her marrow. The woozy, hazy feeling she had when she woke up, the pounding in her head, she hadn't fainted – she'd been drugged.

Tossing the blanket off of her she stormed into the kitchen, following Jefferson. "You drugged me?" she demanded angrily. "That's why you were at the office this morning. It wasn't a coincidence that you were there. You were spying on me – and then you drugged me."

"Yes," he admitted quietly, much to March's surprise, quietly taking the kettle off the element. He had the distinct feeling she wouldn't want tea anymore.

"Oh my God," she yelled at him, fists shaking by her side. "What on earth possess a person to do that? You know what no... don't answer that I don't want to know." Storming back out of the kitchen she tried making her way to the front hall. "Where the hell are my chucks?" she asked searching the hall closet for her jacket and shoes.

"What?"

Sighing with frustration she hollered back, "shoes. Where are my shoes?"

"Please don't go," begged Jefferson situating himself between March and the door.

"Get out of my way," she demanded folding her arms in front of her chest.

"Please, just hear me out – believe it or not I had my reasons," he attempted pitifully to explain.

"You have two minutes to present a convincing argument before I leave," she grumbled, glaring at him.

Jefferson's head jerked back slightly, not sure he heard her correctly. Was she actually willing to hear him out on this? That was new. "Seriously?"

"Down to a minute fifty," she replied gruffly.

"Okay. Okay," he threw his hands up quickly. "First of all yes, I slipped something in the tea I offered you – and for that I really am sorry. I brought it up as back up just in case you forgot the first rule of Storybrooke – never trust Regina.

You called me by name, and then there was that bit about the Queen in her office, I know you covered it, but now she's thinking you might know about the curse; she doesn't trust anyone, not me, and certainly not you. She's going to be suspicious of you now – if she wasn't already – especially now that she knows you know me – I know the truth.

I needed to get you out of there before she had a chance to get you alone. Believe me when I say she is ruthless. She's not above manipulating, hurting or even killing you to get what she wants. She has ways, and I couldn't let her do that... not to you. It's not like I wanted to do it, but I panicked, and... It was meant to be nothing more than a precaution – I'd hoped I wouldn't have had to use it. I'm so sorry. I really am."

Shifting her weight from one foot to another March stared at him, long and hard. Searching his face for any trace of mistruth in what he'd just said. She didn't know if it was the pleading tones in his voice, the soft apologetic look in his eyes or the genuine concern plastered all over his face, but for some odd reason she believed him.

"Damn it," she cursed, dropping her arms from her chest to bridge her nose. "I hate to admit it, but you made a good case – and you're right. I did bugger things up this morning." She knew that. The moment the words had left her mouth this morning she regretted them. She just couldn't help it sometimes, it was as though her mind worked too fast for any filter to be effective. "That doesn't change the fact I'm angry with you – bloody furious is more like it," she added in a clipped tone. "But I do see why you did what you did." Taking a moment she looked back up form the spot she'd been focusing on, on the floor, to study him. "Those people, the ones you try to avoid in town, did you do something similar to them."

With a groan, Jefferson leaned his back against the door. This was definitely not his finest moment. Something told him he'd just lost the one friend he had in Storybrooke, and as per usual, it was all his fault.

"I may have drugged Emma, and held Mary Margaret hostage until Emma agreed to make a hat for me," he explained hesitantly. "I'll admit it was not one of my better plans," he added, quickly acknowledging the flaws in his logic. He was desperate though, and this was all before March had even come to town. That still didn't stop him from noticing the mildly terrified look in her eye. Slowly he stepped aside, no longer blocking her access to the front door.

"I'll understand if you never want to talk to me again," he mumbled quietly keeping his head bowed. He couldn't handle the thought of her looking at him with the same kind of scorn and disdain that Emma and Mary Margaret had.

Having finally found her Chuck Taylors while Jefferson was talking, March finished lacing up her shoes, and opened the door. Looking back at him her heart felt heavy but her head was clouded and she needed some time to think about everything she'd just heard. Licking her lips she moved to say something, but Jefferson raised his hand, dismissing whatever it was she was about to say. She needn't say it.

He recognized the look in her eyes.


	10. Drinking Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to drown his sorrows, Jefferson gains a new drinking buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mentions of Physical, Domestic Abuse

_Idiot,_ Jefferson cursed taking another sip form his scotch, face contorting in a twisted smile as the amber liquid burned a way down his throat, feeding the dark pit growing in his stomach. He’d done it again. He chased away someone with his antics, only this time it was the one person willing to put up with his madness, and actually believed him, that he chased away.

March was probably halfway to Boston by now. The sad thing was, he didn’t blame her either. He would have left a long time ago too, if he could. This place, it had a way of bringing out the worst in people, or perhaps that was just him? His grip on the glass tightened with contempt. He hated this town, almost as much as he hated Wonderland, and the queens. If he never met another queen again in this miserable life, it would be too soon.

Looking back down at the glass Jefferson threw his head back, and downed its contents before deciding he needed another drink. Getting up from his seat, he swayed slightly before rummaging in the cupboard for another bottle. He finished the last bottle about twenty minutes ago, but he wasn’t quite ready to move onto his ‘special serum’ quite yet. He’d need at least two more before he made himself that depressed.

“Come on, I know I have another one somewhere,” he grumbled through clenched teeth. “Where the hell are you?”

A gentle knock at the door disrupted his search for the missing bottle of scotch. Glaring at the door from where he stood in the kitchen Jefferson hollered angrily, “go away,” before continuing in his search. A moment later there was another knock, followed by another. Again, Jefferson stuck his head out of the cupboard, grumbling, “go away,” at the door.

When the knocker persisted in their endeavour, he marched towards the door in huff ready to give them a piece of his mind. The door practically flew open, with Jefferson ready to yell at whoever was standing on his stoop to get the hell off his property before he alerted the authorities – they didn’t have to know he was bluffing – but he stopped when he saw a familiar pair of pale blue eyes looking back at him.

“March?” he questioned softly, stunned by her presence. “What are you doing here?”

“Friends don’t let friends drink alone,” she answered thrusting a paper bag with an unopened bottle inside of it, “so, looks like you’re my new drinking partner.” She stepped into the house without waiting for invitation. Once inside she stopped, turned around and sniffed the air, “seems like you’ve started without me,” she added with a sad little smile. “Hope you don’t mind – I wasn’t sure what brand you like so I just bought my usual.”

Closing the door, Jefferson pulled the bottle out of the bag and started chuckling. With thick black sharpie there was a hand drawn label taped to the bottle that read ‘Arsenic.’

“I’ll go get you a glass,” he promised, sauntering back into the kitchen with March in tow. He motioned for her to sit at the island in the kitchen, next to where his own empty glass remained neglected, and he dug out another for her to use. “Ice?” he called over his shoulder as he fished out the short whisky glass from the back of the cabinet.

“Please,” replied March as she took a seat next to the empty glass.

Turning around he slid the glass towards her along the smooth surface of the counter. He chuckled as March caught the glass before grabbing the bottle, twisting the lid off. Slowly, she began refilling his glass before tending to her own.

“Fill her up,” Jefferson instructed, rounding the island to take his seat next to her. Once she finished pouring his glass she turned to pour her own. Like his, her glass was filled nearly to the top before she raised it in cheers. Clinking his glass with hers and taking a sip Jefferson looked back at the woman on his left, “so I know why I’m drinking,” he started, “what’s your excuse?”

“Oh you know,” she shrugged taking another drink, quickly draining her glass to pour another. “Just one of those days. Meeting with the mayor went to hell, my best friend drugged me, shop didn’t have a single customer all day, well unless you count the mayor / sheriff’s son coming into the store informing me that apparently the mayor, the same one who now hates me, killed the last sheriff by taking his heart, and crushing it. To dust,” she added shrilly, reliving her earlier conversations with Henry. Truth be told she wasn’t sure what scared her more, that apparently these people could live without their hearts in their chests, or that Regina had the strength, and ability to crush a heart to dust. She motioned to his glass with the bottle as she started refilling her own, “you want another?”

“Nah, I’m good. Like you said, I had a head start,” Jefferson smiled sympathetically at her until something struck him. “Wait – I’m your best friend?” When March nodded as she poured, spilling a bit of the malt whisky on the counter he added, “you are so screwed,” with a heart felt laugh.

“Don’t I know it,” she chuckled with a cheeky grin. “So, what about you?” She nudged him slightly with her elbow. “What had you drinking up here all by your lonesome?”

“Did something stupid,” he admitted taking another drink. “Afraid I lost my best friend for good; I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to talk to me again. Frankly I’m surprised she’s not half way to Boston by now,” he looked over, smiling sadly at her. Why the hell wasn’t she in Boston? She should have been there, instead of sitting in his kitchen drinking with him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s not, but it’d be a hell of a lot safer for her if she was.”

“You’re probably right,” March agreed with a bob of her head.

“So why’d you stay?” Jefferson asked, setting his glass back down on the granite counter top. One of these days he’d actually get around into investing in a set of coasters. But for now, he’d deal with the rings – not that there were any visible water rings on the counter so far, which was probably why he kept putting off buying the coasters.

Staring straight ahead, glass in hand, March thought long and hard about her answer before taking a sip. _Oh Gods that’s good,_ she thought as she savoured the burn.

“Henry,” she replied quietly. “He came into the store check on me. Apparently he saw you carrying me out this morning and was worried his mother had tried to poison me with one of her deadly apples. And he was going on and on about all the terrible things Regina has done as Queen and it just,” – she paused, shaking her head to herself – “it made me sick to my stomach. I get it. Knowing what she did to you, with Grace, and hearing all that she’s done to the people here – I get why you did what you did.” Reaching her hand out she grabbed Jefferson’s arm, and squeezed, “we’re good,” she added after a moment. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” His eyes begged her to swear that she wouldn’t leave.

“Promise,” she smiled leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. “At least not while things keep being so delightfully interesting here,” she added after a second. “Like I keep saying, I’m very, very pro-interesting.”

“You definitely came to the right place,” he confirmed with a slight nod. That was definitely one word that could be used to describe Storybrooke. Maybe not the one Jefferson would use himself, but if it meant March stayed in town then he’d call it whatever the hell she wanted.

“Come on,” she nudged, getting up from her seat. “What good is drinking at home if you’re not sitting on a comfortable seat?” Grabbing the bottle, she urged Jefferson up on to his feet and into the living room. “Besides, it’s almost Grace’s bed time,” she added after a brief second with a hesitant, but understanding smile, “ and you need to go be a father.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nestled on the couch with drink in hand, Jefferson left March to read in silence in the living room as he disappeared down into his workshop for his nightly routine. March offered to go wait in the spare room if he wanted the living room, giving Jefferson all the time and privacy he needed as he watched his daughter get settled into bed. He insisted she stay where she was, she’d already been so kind to him, allowing him to indulge in his nightly habits.

As he rejoined March in the living room, he found her book discarded on the side table, as she spoke quietly on her cell phone, sounding a little annoyed with whoever she was speaking with.

“I’ve already told you… everything is fine. Yes, I know what I said earlier, but that’s not the case anymore.” Eyes darting up she noticed Jefferson reappear in the room. “Listen, I have to go… because, I’m visiting with a friend… Yes I made a friend… well there’s no need to sound so surprised… this is completely different… well for starters he’s yet to steal my lunch money … and where did I get that from?... Oh don’t bring Humphrey into this… I’m hanging up now mother. Yes, I love you too. We’ll talk tomorrow… no I won’t forget… that was one time, and I was on tour. I’m hanging up now. Goodbye mother – I’ll tell Percy you say hello.”

Hitting the call end button March slid the phone back onto the glass coffee table. Looking over in Jefferson’s direction she bit her lip nervously and apologized. “Sorry, ‘bout that. My mum. She worries.”

“Understandable,” Jefferson shrugged, sitting on the couch next to March. “She still in England?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t be easy for her having you so far away.”

“Yeah,” March smiled sadly. “But she understands why I had to leave,” she mumbled. “I couldn’t stay there – not after everything that happened.”

“Why _did_ you leave London?” inquired Jefferson, realizing he never actually knew what brought her to America. She always talked about her life in London so happily, seemed strange that she would just up and move all of a sudden.

“We all have a Regina. I guess you could say I was running away from mine,” March whispered before taking another sip. She ignored the strange look from Jefferson and reached for another sip from her drink. There was no point in keeping it a secret, not from him, still, didn’t make talking about it any easier.

“It was about five and a half years ago. His name was Jack,” she started slowly with calm steady breaths. “And he was gorgeous, thick red hair, and wild green eyes,” she smiled ruefully. “I met him on a night out with some colleagues in the English department. He was out with some mates of his from the marines. I thought that the uniform meant he was a good guy; you know, a modern day knight in shining armour. I was an idiot,” she added the latter bitterly, leaning forward on the couch, resting her arms on her knees.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Jefferson sitting next to her, with his eyes burning twin holes in the side of her head. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of, losing her courage and just break down crying, or that Jefferson would judge her for the foolish naïveté of her youth. Toying with her glass she pushed herself into continuing, she couldn’t stop half way through. If she was serious about doing this, she’d have to see it through to the end, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

“We dated for a bit, almost immediately I got this bad feeling about him, and didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t quite the good guy I thought he was. Started out small enough,” she shrugged slightly recalling how it all began. “Calling me names when we were out in public, tearing me down in front of his friends, making fun of me where he could, those kinds of things.” She took another sip.

“After a couple weeks the bad feeling just kept getting worse and worse. Anyways,” she wiped away the tears she felt streaking down her cheek. “it got to the point where I became scared of him, and wanted out. So one night I decided it was time to end things with Jack. In retrospect it wasn’t the smartest plan.” Her voice became soft and far off as the distant memory played on in her mind.

“It was a Friday night, and the game was on. He always drank when he watched rugby. He was mean when he was drunk. I knew all that, of course, but I did it anyways – at the time none of that mattered. I needed to get out of that relationship, and away from him, as soon as possible – it could not wait. Not to me. So, being stubborn and pig headed as I am, I went over to break up with him.”

Heart racing in his throat Jefferson never took his eyes off March as she spoke. She was transformed as she spoke, going form bright and vibrant personality he knew her to be, to a soft fragile wisp of something. His stomach churned, and his breath turned ragged, afraid that if he exhaled too loud he might blow her away. He fought the uneasy feeling of nausea rising up into his throat from the depths of his stomach. The distinct feeling he knew where this story was going crept up on him, and the very thought made him sick to his stomach.

“And?” he croaked, leaning up next to her, placing a cautious hand on her leg, trying to offer her some kind of support, encouraging her to go on, but letting her know she could stop if she needed to – he didn’t want her traumatized on his couch twice in one day.

“And I told him I wanted out.” Her skin blanched as she spoke, looking as though she might faint at any given moment. “He got mad. Started screaming at me. Demanding to know why, and like an idiot I told him – because I was scared of him. He let up a bit, and took another drink.”

Her voice cracked. The look in his eyes when he turned around to face her still haunted her. Five years later, and they still found their way into her dreams every night. The cold, harsh, piercing stare of pure, unadulterated hatred. With several unsteady breaths March started hyperventilating before reaching for her drink, finishing it with two quick gulps.

“He turned around and looked at me with this look, I didn’t even recognize him by that point. It was something straight out of Jekyll and Hyde. He leaned in close, really close, and gave the most twisted, inhuman laugh I’ve ever heard. Then he whispered, ‘I’ll give you something to be afraid of.’” Scrunching her eyes shut the tears raced down her cheeks in heavy streams as she relived his every blow, her own voice barely above a quaking whisper. “That’s when he started hitting me. I tried to run, but he grabbed me by my hair and dragged me back. I think I was too stunned to scream, too scared to fight back. I was in shock,” she shrugged again, holding herself tightly for support. “I’d never been hit before. He hit me around a couple more times all the while repeating, _I’ll give you something to be afraid of._ Mercifully, he waited until I was unconscious, passed out while he choked me, before he used the bat.”

Jefferson didn’t ask, but he had a sinking feeling the bat had been a Kookaburra Angry Beast cricket bat. He was caught somewhere between blind rage, and abject horror, between wanting to scream in his outrage, and punch the wall. Instead he settled for balling his fists until the skin over his knuckles turned white, and whispered something indistinguishable beneath his breath.

“What happened?” he asked, once he calmed some, with his voice quivering, not completely committed to knowing if he actually wanted to find out.

“I woke up three days later in Intensive Care,” March looked at him for the first time with a sorrowful little smile. “The one thing I did right was tell mum what her fool daughter was setting out to do that night. She wanted to talk me out of it, but I think she knew it was something I had to do. I couldn’t be in that kind of toxic, abusive relationship – and I was above running away. Mostly because I knew if I tried, he’d find me, and I don’t want to know what he would have done when he did. I told her I’d call her, and if she didn’t hear from me after thirty minutes – call the police.

By the time they arrived at his flat, they found me bloodied and unconscious on the floor, and Jack was in the wind. I guess the sirens spooked him, and he bolted. I pressed charges of course, but the investigation they haven’t found him yet so the investigation, while technically on going, went cold.”

“He’s still out there?” Jefferson seethed venomously. How hard was it to find one guy? He’d seen pictures of the UK, it wasn’t that big of an island. How incompetent were these cops? His teeth ground against each other as multitudes of emotions flickered across his face. The rage burned bright, and hot behind his eyes as he thought about how that filth walked free after what he’d done. The thought made him sick all over again. Taking a firm grip of his glass he downed the rest of its contents before posing another question, “how bad was it – the damage that is?”

“Physically?” March mused. “It was pretty bad.” She recalled the four broken ribs, and collapsed lung that kept her in the hospital for three weeks. That didn’ factor in the bruised, swollen skin on her face and body, the split lip, and the ring of bruises on her neck from where he’d choked her. “Mentally – it was so much worse,” she added after a second.

“I started getting panic attacks. I saw him every where I went, was constantly looking over my shoulder, got to the point where I couldn’t even turn out the lights without feeling his hands around my neck.”

Jefferson couldn’t help but notice the slight tremor in her hands as she recounted her terrors, and wondered how they still affected her now. Hesitantly he reached a hand out and took hers in it, giving it a tender, reassuring squeeze. No matter what, he didn’t want her to feel alone – ever.

“My mum was a rock during that time. I honestly have no idea how she did it. I knew it was killing her to see me in such a toss – but she never let it show. Not once. Anyways, I couldn’t live my life like that – so I decided to put as much distance between me and Jack as possible. If he could run away from it, and make like it never happened, then why couldn’t I? Quit my job, and decided to focus on my writing. Made LA my centre of operations so I could be closer to my publisher, and I started travelling. I got out, saw the world, and had the adventure I always wanted.”

“How?” Jefferson stammered. How could anyone find the strength to just get out and move on after experiencing something so horrific? She almost died. Five years ago. It had been nearly thirty since his own incident, and he was still haunted by the events of his past.

“I don’t want _that_ to be what defines my life,” March answered with absolute resolution. “I want to be a survivor – not a victim. Don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily. “I still have my bad days, and I have to take it slow, but eventually those will fade away just like everything else. It’s taken me a long time, but the day I decided to take my life back was the day I stopped looking over my shoulder.”

“It can’t be easy knowing he’s still out there somewhere,” Jefferson agreed, blown away by the quiet strength and determination of spirit imbued in the woman sitting next to him. Anyone else, and an experience like that might have made them hard, mistrusting, full of walls blocking out the world, but instead March was kind, and trusting. Seeing someone like her, ordinarily so happy and bubbly, after everything she’d been through, it gave him courage. Perhaps there was still hope for him yet?

“Yeah,” March nodded. That certainly didn’t help with her anxiety. “I don’t know,” she shrugged, almost at a lost for words. “I just have the feeling he never left London – perhaps that’s why, once I got away from it all, I felt like I could actually breathe again.”

“March, I am so sorry,” Jefferson breathed slowly, rubbing his face in his hands. “Waking up the way you did here this afternoon – that must have brought up a lot of bad memories – I can’t even imagine how terrified you must have been,” he choked on the words, consumed with the guilt and regret of his actions. “I am so sorry,” he whispered over and over again.

“Well it wasn’t exactly pleasant,” she agreed hesitantly.

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Chuckling March leaned back against Jefferson; even though he never took his hand away from hers, she was desperate for the feel of human contact – a physical reminder he was really there – she rested her head on his shoulder as her body pressed comfortably against his chest, “I already have.” Still toying with the empty glass in hand she continued, “I don’t blame you for being scared, not after hearing every awful thing Regina’s done. Not that I approve of your methods,” she chuckled more so to herself than him.

“Not everything,” Jefferson whispered in a hush.

“What?” March asked, startled by the revelation, sitting up on the couch. Turning back round she faced him. Her face etched with concern she silently implored him to explain.

“I haven’t told you everything about Regina, and Wonderland,” Jefferson explained. Reaching for the bottle he poured himself another. If she could tell him about this Jack Hart, then he could trust her enough to tell her about the red queen, and the truth about Wonderland.

“Hold that thought,” March held up her hand. “I think I’m going to need a good cuppa before we get into this.”

“I thought we were settling for ‘arsenic’?” Jefferson grinned wildly at her.

“Spiked tea means best of both worlds, mate,” March chuckled producing a canister of loose tealeaves from her bag.

“Hmm, now you’re really talking my language. You want me to make?”

March laughed uneasily. “No offense, but I think I’ll be making my own tea from here on out. At least that way I know what’s in it.”

Biting back a rebuttal, Jefferson bowed his head in defeat. She had a valid point. Given this morning’s events she had no reason to trust him period – it would take some time to regain that trust, but he was up to the challenge. Getting up he followed her into the kitchen and watched as she quickly navigated her way around the kitchen, making herself quite at home amongst his things. It was kind of nice to see someone else working in his kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

When they settled back on to the couch, several minutes later, Jefferson proceeded to tell her everything, starting at the only place he knew: the beginning. He explained his deal with Gold, and what he’d done when Regina still had some semblance of a heart. How he broke the fragile young queen, and turned her into a monster. He told her what she already knew, about Regina’s deceit, and what it meant for him. He told her about the red queen, and how she took off his head, and yet he didn’t die.

“Wait – so they actually cut your head off?” she gasped in horror, shuddering at the very thought.

“Clean off,” he confirmed with a grim smile. Taking a sip of the spiked tea he took comfort in its warmth. She was right. This was _much_ better.

“Then how did they . . .”

“Magic.” Jefferson answered before she could finish gaping out the question. “The axe must have been imbued with some kind of magic that prevented the stroke from killing me – though it did leave me with a grim souvenir,” he motioned to his neck with an exaggerated flourish, to where the scar remained safely concealed under the silk and lace of his cravat.

“Is that why you have so many of those?” she motioned to the fabric wrapped neatly around his neck, swaying a little as she spoke. “To conceal what they did to you?”

“Partially,” he admitted hesitantly. “And also because I quite like them,” he added with a sly grin.

He’d worn various cravats, and scarves since he was a boy, working as another portal jumper’s apprentice. Appearance was everything to them; no one would have ever wanted to do business with him if he looked like a commoner. To look successful brought success – it was one of the first lessons he learned during his apprenticeship.

Getting back to the topic at hand, he told her about being forced into making hat after hat after hat with no magic.

“No matter how hard I tried to explain it to them, a hat with out magic, no matter what you do to it, just a hat,” he groaned. “They wouldn’t listen. Told me that would be my task, if I wanted to get back to my world, to my Grace. I would have to find a way to make a hat with magic, from just ordinary materials.”

“That’s why you needed Emma,” March whispered quietly to herself wiping her face with her hands. “You thought maybe since she was the saviour, she could bring magic back somehow, and that she’d get a hat to work.” Everything was starting to click. Again, she expressed an extreme disapproval of his methods, just like everyone else. But unlike anyone he’d ever told before, she understood his motives.

“I believe that’s what they call a BINGO,” Jefferson nodded sadly.

“You didn’t have to tell me any of that,” she replied quietly looking up at him. It was her turn to be caught between wanting to cry, and wanting to hold him. It was more than anyone should ever have to bear, but he did, and he had been for nearly thirty years – alone. At least after the incident with Jack, she had her mum, and Percy for support, but Jefferson, he had no one. “But I’m glad you did,” she added reaching over for his hand, the same way he had for hers earlier.

Forced day after day to see the daughter who didn’t remember him, all the while being forced to live in the town ruled by the woman who made it all happen – who not only caused his emotional suffering, but physical too. Made March sick, and for the first time in her life she swore she hated someone more than Jack.

“Yes I did,” Jefferson said forcefully as he looked back at her, eyes weary but made lighter with the relief that some of that pain had been lifted with his confession. Pulling his hand away from her grasp he avoided eye contact as he spoke. “You’re a good person, you deserve the truth.”

“And what truth might that be?” inquired March, almost offended by the retraction of his touch.

“That I’m not. And I’m paying for it now. That’s why she took her from me. She’s punishing me for what I did. Maybe I deserved it – who knows anymore.”

“Don’t be ludicrous,” she scolded, scooting closer to him. “No one deserves to have their head lopped off by some psychopath with a crown – just ask anyone who ever crossed Henry VIII.”

“What?” Jefferson asked absently, looking over at her, not clear on the reference.

“Never mind,” March shrugged it off. “It was supposed to be a joke. I was trying to be funny.”

“Oh,” he nodded slightly.

“You’re wrong by the way,” she added after a moment’s silence.

“About what?”

“You,” she explained with a helpless shrug. “You’re a good man,” March argued sitting forward to grab her mug and take another slow sip. “You just don’t see it yet.”

When it became apparent Jefferson that she wasn’t going to elaborate any further on that last comment he looked to the ground and smiled. So what if he didn’t believe her? At least there was one person in Storybrooke who thought he was a good. It was a start.

“So, tell me more about this magic hat,” she added leaning back against the arm of the couch, feet resting comfortably in his lap.

“What more did you want to know?” he chuckled, suddenly feeling very light hearted. “I was a portal jumper – the hat let me jump through portals. It’s all pretty self explanatory.” When she nudged him slightly, playfully, with one foot he laughed, and told her more about the worlds he travelled to, watching the fascination and envy flicker behind captivated eyes.

She had an adventurous spirit – something they shared. That, combined with the fact that she actually believed him about magic, made talking about his travels easier somehow. He told her of Oz, other business ventures in Wonderland, and even the one time he’d been to Neverland. He’d had so many adventures with his trusty hat – it actually felt surprisingly good to share them with someone who could appreciate his travels.

“Wait . . . Does that mean . . . Do you think?” She stammered exuberantly sitting up from her place on the couch, “is it possible for Hogwarts to exist?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” he shrugged after a moment’s consideration, “Even I haven’t been to _all_ the worlds.” He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing March with a definite resounding no, not when she had such an eager, and hopeful look plastered on her face. Besides, there were dozens if not hundreds of worlds, all of which had magic, and he was all but sure there’d be hundreds more like this one where there wasn’t any. Who was he to say if this Hogwarts did or did not exist?

“Wicked,” she beamed.

Seeing the delight behind her smile as she grinned at him before flopping back against the cushion, he knew he made the right choice. He found it strange at how happy he felt just by seeing her so happy; if he didn’t know better he might think he just made her night. “You’re quite the anomaly – you know that?” he added after a second.

“How so?”

“Everyone else in your world – they all seem to want a magical solution for everything, but they refuse to believe in magic. Then there’s you. You believe in magic, but you don’t actually want anything from it. It’s curious.”

Chuckling March replied, “well, based on what I’ve heard of magic, at least the kind in your world, it’s all great in theory, but in practice it’s nothing more than trouble – it doesn’t seem to have actually made anyone happy. I mean you, Regina, this Rumplestiltskin fellow. All of you dealt with magic, and all it’s done is make you miserable. I’d rather just be happy.”

Cocking his head to the side Jefferson couldn’t fight the crooked grin. “You certainly are a clever one – anyone ever tell you that?”

“I’ve always been clever. That’s what makes me a perfect Ravenclaw – cleverness and imagination.” March shrugged with a silly smile.

“A raven what?” Jefferson blinked twice. Was this British thing, a Harry Potter thing, or just another March thing?

“From Harry Potter,” March giggled at his confusion, clapping her hands in delight. Once she settled down enough to form a coherent sentence she set to explain the finer details of the Harry Potter universe, including the four houses of Hogwarts.

“People get very defensive about their houses – it’s been a point of contention in a lot of relationships, and has ruined friendships.”

“I’d hate to know where that hat would send me,” Jefferson scoffed as Slytherin screamed in the back of his mind. According to March it was the most vilified house – it’d make sense for him to be sent there, along with Regina and everyone else he loathed.

“I know exactly where you belong,” March beamed proudly, clearly pleased with herself for puzzling it all out without him.

“Alright genius,” Jefferson teased, leaning back he prepared himself for the worst, “what am I?”

“Well, you’re cunning, and will stop at nothing to get what you want, you’ve proved that time and again.” She gave him a pointed glare as this morning’s activities played in the back of her mind.

“So Slytherin,” he shrugged trying to mask his apprehension. “Figured as much.”

“Yes,” March said, pausing to finish her drink, “and no.” Jefferson sat a little straighter, intrigued with where she was going with this. “You have all those qualities – but they come from necessity. They’re not what you value most. And the sorting hat is all about your values.

You’re also loyal – everything you do you do for Grace. And you’re kind,” she added, listing all the things he’d done for her to date – this morning’s incident not included. “Even this morning’s debacle was for my own safety,” after a bit more thought she saw how it might be construed as an act of loyalty – just took some imagination.

“Okay, that’s all qualities of a Hufflepuff,” Jefferson said slowly with some comprehension. He could handle being a Hufflepuff. They actually sounded kind of cute, and cuddly . . . he was not cuddly, but he could learn.   Not to mention their house was right by the kitchens – he liked food. He looked ghastly in yellow, though.

“Yes, but what you did this morning, going down to Regina’s office – that was incredibly, borderline stupidly, brave of you. And you crave adventure, if your younger years are of any indication – those are all traits of a Gryffindor.”

“I am not a Gryffindor,” he scoffed at the very idea. More than once he’d been called coward – and more than once he believed it too. He was not the brave soul March believed him to be, that much he knew.

“No you’re not,” March grinned. “You’re like me. Ravenclaw. All your travels have made you wise and worldly, and you have an admiration for wit – everyone you’ve dealt with has been exceptionally intelligent. You’re clever – which is basically the same as cunning, without any sinister connotations. And you’re creative; you’ve had quite a few schemes over the years, all of which require a fair bit of ingenuity, and out of the box thinking. You don’t let boundaries constrain you – you literally jumped to other worlds via portals, you have a spirit that’s not easily contained.” She beamed in Jefferson’s direction, clearly pleased with her assessment.

Jefferson leaned back against his arm of the couch, grinning. Ravenclaw. He could live with Ravenclaw – he felt even better knowing that March was one too. If this Hogwarts really did exist, at least he’d have a friend in his house.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple hours, and several cups of tea later March packed up her bag, ready to head home for the night.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night? There’s more than enough room for you here,” Jefferson offered.

“I’ll be fine,” March assured him with a slight pat on the chest.

“Well, at least let me give you a ride home,” he offered, reaching for his coat off the nearest hook. He didn’t like the thought of her walking the way back into town, alone late at night.

“I’ll be fine,” laughed March, taking a sip of tea in her travel cup. “Besides,” – she added leaning against the doorframe, lacing up a tan pair of combat boots – “you’ve had more than a few tonight, it wouldn’t be safe to have you behind the wheel.”

True, they did have more a few drinks tonight, but the bottle remained more than half full and they stopped shortly after he finished explaining about Wonderland. Surely the alcohol would have worked its way out of his system by now, but March remained steadfast in her convictions.  

“Just call me when you get in – so I know your safe.”

“I will,” she promised, picking her bag up off he floor and slinging it over her shoulder.   Turning around in his front hall she smiled back at him. “Why don’t you come by the store tomorrow – during the day?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he replied darkly looking down at the ground.

“Why not?” demanded March. “It’s your town too,” she added recognizing the dangerous flicker behind his eyes as thoughts of Mary Margaret, Emma and Regina crossed his mind. “I can handle Emma,” March argued lifting his chin with the crook of her finger so he looked at her. “Besides it might be fun to have some company during the day. I get lonely sometimes sitting there hour after hour all alone. Heavens knows, there aren’t too many people in town who appreciate fine tea.”

“In this coffee guzzling hole? Colour me surprised,” scoffed Jefferson, rolling his eyes. Honestly, March’s shop, and its impressive selection of fine quality teas, was wasted on a town like Storybrooke.

“Exactly,” swatting at his arm lightly March grinned at him even more. “See, this is why I need you there, besides us Ravenclaws have to stick together.”

“Fine,” Jefferson relented with a half-hearted glare. Truth be told he liked the sound of being needed, Lord knows he hadn’t felt that way in years. “But I’m only doing it for the tea,” he warned, “and the fact that I might need to borrow some more books soon. And you know,” he shrugged playfully, “the fact that I’m apparently your best friend.”

“Deal,” March agreed, eagerly extending her hand for a shake.

“Deal,” Jefferson affirmed. “Perhaps we can grab some dinner afterwards?”

“Take out from Granny’s and head back to your place? I can bring over some movies for you too – including my extended edition of the Avengers.”

“Perfect.” He loved the way that she already read his mind. What made it even better was that she was almost as introverted as him, so their plans didn’t actually involve going out, and included finding new and wonderful reasons to stay inside. Oh yes. This was definitely the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“Brilliant,” she concurred. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Leaning against the doorframe he watched her figure begin retreating into the darkness. “I’ll be waiting for your call,” Jefferson reminded, he didn’t want to know what he’d do if she didn’t call. Probably drive down and look for her himself. This woman was a breath of spring air in the dusty old town – he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

“Yes, mother,” she called back. And though she had vanished into the night air he could still the outline of a smile traced on her face.

 _Good night,_ Jefferson chuckled as he shut the door. Oh, keeping this woman out of trouble was going to be a challenge. Locking the door behind him, Jefferson retreated to the grand piano in his living room, sitting at the bench. His fingers traced along the familiar keys before they started to play a tune unfamiliar to his ears. How long had it been since he last composed? _What the hell,_ he thought with an amused little smirk, as he finished the first line, it had been a while since he faced a proper challenge – though he be rusty, he was up for the task.

 

* * *

 

Jefferson continued filling the room with the piano’s sweet melodies until his phone buzzed. True to her word, March called him the moment she had turned the lock on her door. They spent another hour just talking, for some reason the conversation just seemed to flow so easily between them, until March, who was close to nodding off finally decided it was well past her bed time, and hung up for the night.

Despite the late hour it was still far too early for Jefferson to call it a night. Instead he prepared for bed as he always did, trading silk shirts and lace cravats for a worn wife beater and plaid pyjama pants. Curling up in his large leather armchair he grabbed the weathered edition of the Hobbit still sitting on his side table, and continued reading until he finished savouring every word. Feeling content, and exhausted he turned out the light and dragged his weary body towards the master bedroom, shutting the door to his workshop in the basement as he walked past. There would be no hats, no scissors, and no special serum. Not tonight.

And for the first time in months, perhaps even years, Jefferson slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.


	11. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March and Jefferson quickly fall into a regular routine with one another, and after another night in Claritea, Jefferson comes to a startling realization.

True to his word, Jefferson stopped by Claritea shortly after noon just as March was coming back from her lunch with Ruby. She’d found him sitting on the stoop of her shop in front of the door, just below the sign saying she would be back form lunch at half past noon, finishing the last few pages of “Body in the Library.” He only looked up when he heard a familiar chuckle, and March asking if he knew who dunnit yet? Grinning he looked up to find her standing over him in her Captain America hoodie, ready to open the door he was currently blocking. After moving so she could get into the store, they proceeded to spend the afternoon, and the rest of the evening together.

March didn’t end up leaving Jefferson’s until almost a quarter to one in the morning.

After that, it didn’t take long for a routine to develop between the two of them. Every morning March would get up early and go for a run in the woods, and Jefferson would wait for her to finish; together they would drive back to his place, where she would proceed to shower and get ready for the day before driving them back into town and open the shop for business. Afterwards they’d either pick something up to eat at Granny’s or, on a rare occasion, they’d stop off at the grocery store, and one of them would attempt to cook for the other.

Some days, when his anxiety was at it’s peak, Jefferson didn’t go into town with March. He’d meet her at the car - bottle of water waiting for her- and she would shower at his place like usual, but then he’d stayed holed up in his workshop until evening when he’d go down to pick her up for their usual take out and a movie. On those days, he noticed, March never failed to leave him little notes all over the house. Some were reasons why he should smile, others had funny little sayings on them, and sometimes they were just silly faces or doodles she had drawn with a pen. At the very least, her little notes of good feelings always made him chuckle. She’d also leave new samples of tea for him to try, some were meant to help with relaxation, and create a sense of calm and serenity, and others were just unusual flavours she figured he’d like.

She was always right.

Then there were the books. He never actually saw her sneak them in, but whenever she wasn’t around he was constantly finding books she’d brought for him. They were sitting on his coffee table, resting next to the piano bench, some had little sticky notes on them saying ‘read me first,’ and others explained that they should be left unless he was in a certain mood. Every day was Easter at his house, with Jefferson never knowing where his little rabbit friend had hidden her newest batch of presents for him to find.

 Some times March had other plans. She often enjoyed socializing with Ruby, the waitress from Granny’s, who genuinely took delight in listening to stories of March’s numerous adventures, and found the way she saw the world to be quirky and refreshing. Ruby always invited March to spend time with her and her circle of friends, which included: Emma, David, Mary Margaret, Archie and a few others. As a stickler for manners March almost always accepted the offer, though she very seldom deemed the outings as 'fun.'

She would sit uncomfortably at the large table or booth, often times neglected unless August happened to be present, until the little voices started to scream in the back of her head. The ones telling her that no one actually wanted her there, that they were just being polite in inviting her. When she had done about as much socializing as she could handle before going into a full scale break down, March politely excused herself for the night and returned home. Once she was safe behind her locked door, she called Jefferson.

Sometimes they’d just talk as he tried to assure her that everything was fine and she had no reason to be anxious around the others – after all it wasn’t like she drugged or kidnapped anyone. More often than not he would listen for five minutes, then inform her he was coming down, not trusting her to drive up to his house in her state, and they would meet in her store. Together they’d sit, with Percy in one of their laps begging to have his ears scratched, and have a nightly cup of tea.

Unlike the others, Jefferson got it. One on one was perfect. It kept March alert, and engaged in the conversation. In large group discussions, however, she often grew bored and restless, especially when the group in question was as tight knit as the one Ruby ran with. They’d all known each other for years upon years (at least twenty-eight whilst cursed) and had difficulty opening themselves up to strangers who might not find the topic of Regina’s apple trees horribly interesting. When she was bored her mind wandered, so by the time someone actually recalled she was sitting there, and asked for her opinion on something, her answer came out from left field.  

That much became evident when someone used the phrase ‘reign of terror’ to describe Regina’s rule over the town. When David finally asked March for an opinion about the subject she started rambling on about Leonardo DaVinci and the Ginevra De Benci.

It was a long, complicated, thickly woven spider web in her mind, so while the conversation seemed on point for March, everyone else looked at her as though she’d begun reciting Dumbledore’s iconic _Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!_ speech in the Philosopher’s Stone. She'd apologize and go back to staring blankly out the window as her mind continued to spiderweb - making connections that no one else seemed to make, or were interested in.

Citing fatigue, she politely excused herself and left the diner. After the glass doors shut behind her, she could practically hear the buzz of hushed murmurs start up as they undoubtedly began discussing the latest ‘March-ism.’  

 _Meh,_ she shrugged it off, walking out the door. Let them talk. Instead of heading for home, she got in her car and drove to Jefferson’s. She never lied when she said she was tired, she was exhausted. She had grown weary of the constantly confused and slightly disturbed glances, and of having to try and explain her thought pattern. Instead she sought the company of someone who actually enjoyed her ‘March-isms,’ who seldom looked at her as though she'd sprouted a new head right in front of them, her comfort, and her solace.

Jefferson.

 

* * *

 

Today had been a bad day. Jefferson hadn’t left the house all day, not even to meet March after her morning run. The terror and panic came back, stronger than it had been in months; the visions plaguing him had been so bad that he actually had to use his special serum on himself again. Not since he used it on March that day in Regina’s did he have use for it, but last night he’d been afflicted with paralyzing images of a swinging axe, and piles upon piles of hats and the phrase, _a hat without magic is just a hat,_ was being muttered furiously in a quiet hush that filled every corner of his enormous, empty house.

Consumed with guilt for not having the courage to leave his house, he reached for his phone and texted March, telling her that he’d leave the door unlocked if she still wanted use of his shower. Seconds later she replied that it was no trouble; she could afford to skip a day of running, not wanting to put him out anymore than she already did. Didn’t matter how many times he told her that was utter nonsense, he was happy to let her have use of his showers, she still felt like she took advantage of him by using his showers after her daily runs. He didn’t tell her that having her in his house, no matter what she was doing, brought Jefferson some semblance of joy. She wouldn’t be coming by for a shower, but she did ask if he wanted her to pop by to check up on him, bring him something from the shop or Granny’s. He declined. The last thing she needed was seeing him in the current state he was in; his clothes were dishevelled, hair mussed, and his eyes were azure on a field of puffed up scarlet thanks to the lack of sleep. He’d terrify her. Then he really would never see her again, and he’d rather forgo one day than a lifetime of not seeing her. By some miracle, somehow, she made the days a little bit brighter and feel a little less long.

As the hours ticked by at a torturously slow pace he felt the haze in his mind start to clear. By the time it was almost time for March to close shop, Jefferson was in a much clearer, more stable, frame of mind, one that could withstand company. Deciding to give spontaneity a try, Jefferson cleaned himself up, and put on a change of clothes before leaving the house for the long walk into town. He could drive, he had a car, but he had a feeling a good long walk was the just what he needed to clear his head for good.  

He knew March always kept the lights on, and the door unlocked, for a bit after she closed shop before heading up to her apartment. He could sneak in while she cleaned, and surprise her. Perhaps they could pick something up to make at his place at the store, and watch a movie or something. He had just finished reading the Lord of the Rings; they could finally watch the first movie. She would like that. She refused to let him watch the movies until he finished the books, the same rules applied for Harry Potter and Game of Thrones. March made the argument that, that way the movies wouldn’t spoil the magic of the books.

* * *

 Pulling back the door to enter the well lit, still open teashop, Jefferson saw something odd. There were people in the store aside from March. The first was a man Jefferson had seen around through the lens of his telescope, but did not know. He was dressed in rather tight fitting blue jeans, and a black leather jacket with matching motorcycle boots. If it wasn’t for the fact he dressed in the same attire prior to her arrival, Jefferson might be inclined to think that he’d worn such tight, form fitting clothes for March’s benefit. The other person talking to March he knew to be Henry, Emma and Regina’s son.

Alerted to his presence by the sound of the chimes ringing, the man stopped talking and turned to study the source of the intrusion. The stranger had thick, wavy brown hair, and bright blue eyes, not all unlike Jefferson’s, though they lacked Jefferson’s eccentric edge. He gave Jefferson a curious look that was interrupted by March, finally catching a glimpse of the door from over the man’s shoulder, calling his name warmly with an excited edge.

Smiling, for the first time that day, Jefferson didn’t fail to note the way her entire face lit up as she caught sight of him, and the way she darted out from around the counter, physically running over to greet him.Throwing her arms around his neck, she pulled him into an enthusiastic hug.

Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her waist as his chin rested against her shoulder. He had craved this feeling all day, the warmth and kindness that just seemed to radiate from March. Over the course of their brief friendship (going strong at two months) he noticed he’d become more addicted to the feelings that accompanied her embraces than anything else he’d experienced to date – including his serum.They were his greatest high, and over time he grew to crave them the way an addict craved heroin. Those few precious seconds in her warm embrace was the best he’d felt all day. Still smiling he pulled back. “Busy?” Eyes flitting over to the man and Henry he motioned to the door, “cause I can . . .”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded, swatting his chest lightly at his ludicrous idea. “It’s freezing outside.” Taking him by the hand she dragged him over to the counter where the others remained standing. “We’re just wrapping up here, won’t take any time at all.”

“Actually, I think we’re done,” replied Henry, looking from August to March, to Jefferson. He smiled at March, and gave her and August a quick wink before heading towards the door. “I have to meet my mom for dinner anyways.” With a final wave good bye, he opened the door and ran quickly towards the diner where Emma would be waiting with Mary Margaret.

August smiled awkwardly at March and Jefferson and the way she’d yet to let go of his hand, “well if you excuse me, we have a saviour in need of convincing, and a curse that needs breaking.” He stepped to March, who gave him her standard single kiss to the cheek good bye, giving her a quick hug. “Thanks again for doing this,” his hand lingered on her arm even though the embrace had ended. “This isn’t your fight, but we really need all the help we can get, anything you can do is appreciated.”

“Happy to help,” she replied with bright smile.

“Well, I, for one, am grateful for it. I’ll keep you posted if I make any progress... We should get you on the bike sometime,” he smiled at her. “You’d love it.”

“Oh, no thank you,” March quickly dismissed the notion of her on a motorcycle with an uncomfortable laugh. “I prefer my vehicles to have four wheels. At least one of us should be stable.” Walking August to the door she gestured for Jefferson to give her one more minute.

“Alright – well, give Tony my best – I have a feeling you’ll be talking to him next before I do.” Jamming his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket August gave Jefferson one final knowing look before returning his attention back to March. “See ya around Lyn.”

“Bye August,” March sing-songed goodbye before closing the door after watching him leisurely stroll out into the night. Turning back around she walked up and greeted Jefferson properly, with a kiss on either cheek. “How are you feeling?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she looked up at him. Her eyes immediately scanned his face for possible signs of distress, and her fingers already started tousling his messy hair out of habit, making it look even crazier.

“Better."

“Good,” her warm smile spread into a wide, enthusiastic grin. “I was worried. Planned coming up to the house after I closed up here, to check in on you, maybe keep you company, though you seemed pretty adamant this morning about not wanting any.”

“I was in pretty rough shape,” he admitted, taking a seat at the bar while she continued to finish with her closing time rituals. “Worried I might scare you away if you saw me.”

“Never,” she looked up at him over the debit, credit receipts she held in her hand.

Her stern tone, and the way she smiled to herself as she kept counting receipts made Jefferson smile as he toyed with the two dirty mugs sitting on the counter. Henry’s was only half empty, but the other one, the one belonging to the man March called August, was completely empty. Just thinking of his name triggered something in Jefferson’s memory. _Oh, I’m going to regret asking this,_ he grumbled to himself as he recalled something August said to March as he was leaving.

“What fight?”

“Pardon?” mused March absently, counting the cash in her till.

“Your friend,” clarified Jefferson, “he said that this wasn’t your fight – I don’t think I like the sounds of this.”

“Oh, that,” taking the twin cups from Jefferson’s hands March started filling the sink with half ice water from the taps, and the left over boiled water from her canteens. “August is from your world, and he knows.” There was no need to clarify what he knew – he said so himself, they had a saviour in dire need of believing, and a curse to break, but even just uttering the words ‘ he knows’ sent ripples of chilled understanding rolling down Jefferson’s spine. “Now he’s helping Henry to try and convince Emma.” She proceeded to explain the nuances of their meeting, and her unwitting induction into Operation Cobra.

His heartbeat spiked as Jefferson listened to March. Licking his lips he nodded, “yep, I definitely don’t like the sounds of this.” He groaned, bouncing his forehead against her counter until she gently slid a hand to act as barrier between his head and the polished counter top. He ceased his actions immediately for fear of hurting her. “What did I tell you about crossing Regina?”

“No, I know that,” March argued, removing her hand from the counter to resume washing her teacups. “This is not about Regina. All I’m doing is helping Henry and August with Emma. You know how she is – frustratingly logical, and therefore oblivious to the reality of the circumstances.”

“Yes, but it will get back to Regina,” argued Jefferson crossing behind the counter to help her clean. He had to do something productive, he was getting twitchy again just thinking about what Regina might do if she found out March was involved with the curse. “Everything always gets back to Regina... Always.”

“Well then, I will just have figure something out to deal with Regina,” she retorted in a fluster.

“What?” his eyes blazed. “What can you do that others haven’t already tried?”

“What would you have me do instead?” she snapped, slamming the pale blue teacup she’d been washing back into the sink, causing some of the hot, soapy water to slosh over the edge. Turning to her left she stared at him with soft, kind eyes desperate for an alternative, “sit around and twiddle my thumbs, acting as though I _don’t_ know there’s something wrong? I can’t do that. Not if breaking the curse means you get your daughter back.”

Those last few words made him feel as though he were hit by a freight train. He didn’t know how to feel. A lump the size of a baseball formed in the back of his throat and his chest started to constrict, making it incredibly difficult for him to breathe. August was right; breaking the curse wasn’t her responsibility, she didn’t have to do a damn thing about it, but she wanted to. She _wanted_ to be involved, to face Regina and break the curse, because him.  

His lips twitched back and forth, between frown and smile, and his eyes blinked repeatedly, his face at war with itself to express a single emotion, a currently impossible task when he was consumed by so many. “You’re heart is too damn big for your own good – you know that?” He scolded her, but anyone listening knew that his heart wasn’t in it; he just had to say something in response.

“I think you may have mentioned it before,” she replied, giving him another one of the smiles she didn’t know he’d become so addicted to, melting the cold fear that leapt into his chest, freezing his heart, at the mention of breaking the curse.

Smiling back at her Jefferson’s shoulders relaxed, slightly. It was pointless arguing the issue further with her. She had the German stubbornness. Once she set her mind to something it stayed set. The only thing he could do now was take comfort in her kind heart, and keep her off Regina’s radar the best he could.

“So,” he cleared his throat, breaking the silence between them. “Tell me about this brilliant plan the three of you have concocted that will change our Saviours mind about the curse.”

March took the cup he passed her from his hands and held it to the light for inspection. Setting back in the soapy water she continued washing it, “why? You saying you want to get involved?”

“If it means keeping you safe. Yes.” His lip twitched into a satisfied smirk when he saw the surprise reflect behind her pale eyes and her lips form a perfect little oh . “What?” he mused, reaching for another cup. “You think this friendship thing is all one sided?” There was an aggravated sigh, from Jefferson, and a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re my best friend – never mind the fact that you're also the only one I’ve got. Now tell me what you’re planning so I can figure out how to best keep you alive.” His eyes remained down cast, focused, as he scrubbed imaginary flecks of food off from the side of the smooth, porcelain teacup.

Water sloshed in the sink as Jefferson dropped the cup he’d been working so fastidiously on under the surprised weight of March throwing her dripping hands around his neck. That was one of the many things Jefferson liked about his friend, she was so incredibly liberal in expressing her affection.

The only person who’d ever hugged him half as much as March had in the two months of their friendship, was Grace. Perhaps if Elena had been more inclined to express any emotion other than annoyance, and disdain, towards him, then maybe their marriage would have worked out a little better. It took some adjusting to at first, but now Jefferson melted into the embrace faster that he did the first time March had tried hugging him in her shop. Though the effect was still the same as it had been that first night, only now he was open to receiving whatever sentiment she was expressing. Right now it was gratitude, and appreciation. He could feel it radiating off her skin, seeping deep into his pores, filling him with a kind of warmth and happiness he could only feel in her presence.

Clasping one hand on the back of her neck, leaving the dishes in the sink forgotten, Jefferson kissed the top of her head.

He called it the March effect. Ever since he started spending time with her, he noticed that he’d become far more liberal with expressing his emotions as well. Started off small enough by placing a hand on her back as March rest her head in his lap while they watched movies at his place. Then it progressed to him initiating the hug when they said good night. From there it took no time at all until it felt perfectly natural to be kissing the top of her head, and to have her kiss his cheek.

He liked the feeling of physical contact. After spending so long in isolation it felt nice having that physical reminder that someone else was there with him. He knew March liked it too – that was part of why he pushed himself into becoming more ‘physical’ with her, not just because he was not always the most loquacious of people and needed some way of expressing they way he felt about her. Touch was how she knew things were real, that he was there, and not just one of her ‘imaginary friends.’

* * *

 

During one of their numerous late night conversations she divulged unto him the story of how she became a writer. Surprisingly enough she never set out to become one, she was just trying to finish her degree at Uni when it happened. She’d be sitting in class, or in the library trying to study, when she kept getting these voices in her head, and she’d see people she knew couldn’t possibly there. They never spoke to her, it was always with each other, and she was just a casual observer to their conversations and actions. Eventually it got so bad she started writing everything down in a spare journal just to get them out of her mind so she could focus. That was about the time she started calling the people she saw in her mind her ‘imaginary friends.’

One day after a particularly gruelling lecture, she’d accidentally left her journal in the classroom for her professor to discover. Flipping through the pages to find a name the Professor grew distracted, so enraptured by the story unfolding on the pages before them to the point that they finished the journal, and scrambled to email March, desperate to find out how the story ended.

When an amused March called to tell her mother the story, her mum requested March scan, and send her the journal pages for her to read over. She made it three pages in before agreeing with the professor’s assessment of her daughter’s writing, and asked March’s permission to submit the pages to her friend’s publishing company who were looking for talented, new writers.

Still determined to finish her degree, March had published the books under a pseudonym – a combination of her many names – so if her books, by some miracle, became popular she could continue to study in relative peace. It worked too. Lyn Rhys became the toast of the literary world, and March Hase graduated top of her class with no one aside from a select few knowing that the two were in fact the one and the same.

Thanks to her imaginary friends, March created characters so real and life like that her books, and characters were beloved by hundreds. Unfortunately they were so real to March that she had a hard time for a while discerning who was real, and who her imagination had created. The only way she could tell the difference between reality and fiction was through touch.

Once Jefferson learned the reason behind her desire for physical contact he no longer found her frequent embraces, and constant touch, strange. She simply wanted to prove to herself that he, someone whose company she particularly enjoyed, and cared about, was real.

* * *

 

“It’s nothing much,” March explained, returning to her abandoned dishes.

The plan had been March's, and it played to her strengths - her love of fairy tales, penchant for entomology, and the fact that she was new to town. As far as Emma was concerned she knew nothing about the curse. She just had to do her thing where she blurted out the meaning of people's names around Emma, and hope that Emma's logic dominant brain would finally see there were just too many similarities for it to be a coincidence.

“The only problem is not everyone is so blatantly obvious,” March sighed, as she put away the last of the cups. Jefferson for example, if it wasn't for his love of tea, and the fact that March had shook his hand; she might not have known he was the hatter. The same thing happened with August too.

“I might just be able to help you with that,” offered Jefferson, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they stepped out of the shop, and into the night. The days were still cool, and the nights colder yet, and March was still without a proper coat. It vexed him to no end for Jefferson to see her walking around with nothing more than a thin sweater to keep her warm against the early spring chill.

“Oh?”

“Well, I know just about everyone, I can help you with the ones you don't know... We can make it into a game,” he added when he saw her brow furrow in contemplation, and he could practically see her trying to puzzle a way to then bring up the names he'd tell her. "I'll give you a hint, and you have try to guess who it is.”

“Okay,” March grinned excitedly. She loved guessing games. Depending on the hint he gave her, she might even be able to use it with Emma. “That sounds fun.”

Chuckling, Jefferson shook his head. Only to March would a guessing game trying to match the citizens of Storybrooke to their fairytale counterpart, would be considered fun. He admired her enthusiasm though. Speaking of which, “guess what I did today,” he nudged her arm slightly before rounding the corner into the alley where she kept the Buick parked.

What?” She wondered, searching for her car keys.

“I finally finished Return of the King,” he announced triumphantly. “You know what that means?” Looking over Jefferson found March with an ecstatic grin, and her crazy eyes shining back at him under the streetlights. He never noticed the way in which the lights reflected off her hair, giving her an almost angelic glow as the honeyed hues of her brown hair shimmered beneath its light.

“I’ll go get the Fellowship,” she announced, bounding excitedly for the stairs leading up to her flat.

“Wait,” Jefferson grabbed her arm, stopping her from taking another step. “I thought maybe we could have a marathon, and watch all three,” he explained, rubbing her arms slightly to keep the blood circulating in this cold.

“Jefferson, that’s almost twelve hours of film. You know I don’t watch anything except the extended editions.” The offer was tempting to her, but she wasn’t sure if he knew what exactly he was getting himself into by making it.

“So?” Jefferson shrugged in response, giving her a quizzical glance. “You don’t work tomorrow,” reminding her that the next day was Sunday, and she took Sundays off. “We can pick something up at the market to make for dinner, even grab some carrot cake - just the way you like it - for afterwards, and really make a night of it.”

“Alright,” her face lit up even more that he swore he could see her without the aid of the moon or city lights – her eyes were light enough for him. “You have yourself a deal.” She instructed him to wait by the car while she went grab her collectors edition box set of the extended editions of the movies, and make sure Percy was set for the night with food and water.

“Bring him with us. He’ll have plenty of space to hop around at the house while we watch the movies – plus at least this way he won’t worry about you.”

The feeling of her lips brushing against his cheek as arms wrapped around his neck warmed Jefferson against the cold, and he heard her voice say, “you are way too good to me.”

“Come on, get going,” he nudged her playfully. Standing there, hands in his pockets, he watched her dart up the back stairs, and into the flat. Smiling, he replayed the way her face lit up when she saw him come into the store, and the strange but pleasant feeling he always had when she hugged him, as he walked over to start the car. He liked the way she wore her emotions so openly on her face, and that she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers. Quite frankly he’d be devastated if it was all one sided. But it wasn’t. Maybe her breathing didn’t become quite as erratic as his did when they touched, and maybe her heart didn’t beat a little faster when she caught sight of him like his did, but it was only natural that they’d feel things differently. All that mattered was that they enjoyed one another’s company.

* * *

 

After picking up all the essentials for a night on the couch with her best friend, and one of her favourite trilogies, and remembering to switch out her contacts for her glasses, March walked with an arm linked with Jefferson’s down Main Street, back towards her car. She seldom wore her glasses, never thought she looked right in them, and told Jefferson as much when he commented on them.

“I don’t see why you hate them so much,” he argued with a grin. “They look lovely on you.”

“They most certainly do not,” March shook her head biting back her laughter. “They are hideous, and too large for my face; they make me look like I have chipmunk cheeks.”

“Hmm, now that you mention it, yeah I see it,” Jefferson mused with a smarmy grin as he pretended to inspect her cheeks from an angle. “That just means they’re more pinchable than usual,” he chuckled, reach over as the bag of groceries slide up his arm, trying to pinch at the apple of her cheeks.

“Oi,” Match laughed swatting away at his hand, “bugger off would you?”

Together they continued down the street, smiling and chuckling as they made silly faces at the other for no reason other than they could. The sound of laughter and chatter caught March’s attention as they walked past the diner. Casting a quick glance inside she saw them. All sitting, smooshed into a booth, talking, laughing, were Ruby, David, Mary Margaret, Emma, Henry, Archie, and a couple other’s she didn’t recognize.

March stopped and just watched. Almost three months in town, and she still felt as much an outsider as she did her first night. Surrounded by a sea of people and she still felt alone. She supposed she ought to be used to feeling this way. After all, that would never be her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jefferson offered up a smarmy, wry grin. Though his expression softened slightly when he saw the strange look she was giving the group. “March? Everything okay?”

“It’s just . . . they have it so easy you know? To be able to just sit at a table with friends and not wonder how it must feel like not to have the overwhelming weight of exhaustion looming on their shoulders after ten seconds taking off their Marc Jacobs peacoats.”

“Speaking of peacoats, here.” Setting his bags on the ground he shrugged out of his long navy coat. “Take it. You’re cold. And I swear, if I see you shiver one more time I’m gonna go mad . . . more than I already am.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not mad,” she scolded sternly before looking at the navy blue peacoat in his hands. “What about you?” she wondered innocently. She was absolutely freezing right now, but she didn’t want to take the coat from him – it was his favourite.

“I have more at home,” he assured her with sincere smile. “You can keep this one until you actually get around to buying one for yourself.” Not giving her the chance to protest he draped the coat, still warm from his body, around her shoulders and started fastening the buttons once her arms were through. “Now that is just not fair?”

“What?” she wondered, mildly panicked as she untucked her hair from the collar.

“Why is it that my jacket looks better on you than it ever did on me?” he wondered folding his arms in front of his chest, but he waited until he saw the disbelieving grin spread across her face before smiling in return. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder he pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head. “And as to your earlier observation – perhaps they have it easier in some regards, but I’ve found this world has plenty of Emmas and Mary Margarets, people with walls to keep everyone out, and happy little doe eyes filled with self-righteous innocence.

“Don’t say that,” March scolded. “They are lovely in their own way.”

“You’re only helping me make my point,” he grinned at her even more, heart swelling in his chest as he cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t judge anyone on anything other than merit – not by appearance, or on rumours, and then you give them second chances, even if they don’t deserve them.” He paused briefly to reflect before pressing on. “But we live in a small town, and the problem is people tend to think that if you don’t conform to their standards then the problem lies within you – not them. You can’t handle groups, well if they can’t be bothered to be with you one on one, then it’s their loss. Because while you out lap us all with that mind of yours, you always wait patiently at the finish line with a congratulations and a bottle of water. And it is an honour just to be in the same race as you. There is a severe shortage of Marchs in this world – and it would be a travesty to lose the one we already have.”

March just stared at him, a tiny little smile on her lips. “That is the kindest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever said to or about me.”

“What are friends for?” He lightly rubbed her arm before a breeze cut through him, reminding him not so subtly that he was sans coat. Shuddering he picked up the bags from where they dropped them on the sidewalk. “To Middle Earth?”

“To Middle Earth,” she agreed with a grin. Linking her arm through his they left the scene at the diner far behind them.

Making their way back to the car, Jefferson looked over to catch March smiling back at him. Suddenly the cold no longer mattered, and he wasn’t rushing back to the Buick for it’s heating. Her smile was everything he needed, and had been for some time. He only needed to lose his jacket to realize it. Suddenly the full implications of that epiphany came crashing around him as he slammed the car door behind him and buckled up his seatbelt.

_Oh crap._


	12. Roomates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks after realizing his feelings for March, Jefferson gets two new roomates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit shorter than usual... Didn't get nearly enough written over my "break" as I'd like. Either way, I hope you guys like this. Next one will be better. I promise!

Oh this was not good. Not good at all. The sudden realization that he had feelings of the romantic nature for his best, and only, friend in town did not sit well with Jefferson. He couldn’t be attracted to March. He just couldn’t. Not only was it horribly cliché, but she was March. March who didn’t think he was a psycho stalker; who believed him about the curse; who genuinely cared about him, and his mental well being; who believed that worlds like Hogwarts and Middle Earth could exist, and chose happiness over magic. He couldn’t lose her.

The realization had struck him when he sat in the car as they drove back to his place the night before. They were fully realized, and completely undeniable when he woke to find she hadn’t moved from when he pulled her up onto his chest to watch the movies, an action they’d done for what felt like a thousand times before. But this time it was different. This time she’d fallen asleep on top of him, and he’d woken up to find her clutching his shirt as his arms were instinctively wrapped around her. That’s when he knew. Never had he felt lighter or happier than he did waking up with her in his arms and her clinging to him – like she needed him. That’s how he knew he was screwed.

It was times like these he realized that having only one friend in town really sucked. Especially when he was in love with said friend. What could he do? It wasn’t like he could suddenly just start ignoring her, they were friends; but it wasn’t like he could tell her how he was feeling either. She saw him as just a friend – nothing more. Besides she shouldn’t be with someone like him. She deserved someone who was as wholly good as herself, a hero, someone like Charming… Just not him. He supposed August would be a good match for her, they were both writers, intelligent, well travelled, but the thought of August holding March the way he wanted to, the way he had been this morning, made Jefferson’s stomach churn.

Getting up from where he sat at the kitchen counter, he grabbed his cup of tea and made his way down the hall towards the door of his workshop. Perhaps he could come up with a solution to his little problem while working on another hat. At the very least it would provide him with a distraction for the time being.

Until he could come up with some kind of solution he’d just ignore his feelings. Perhaps if he ignored them long enough they’d go away for good.

A man could only hope.

 

* * *

 

 

Hope failed.

For a good two, almost three, weeks Jefferson had been acting his ass off, in a little production he called, _I’m not at all in love with my best friend_ starring as himself in the role of the doomed idiot while March continued to perform marvellously as the unaware and disinterested love interest.

He took some relief in knowing that it wasn’t just him though – she wasn’t interested in any of the men in Storybrooke, or at least that’s how it would seem. According to his sources, namely March (and his telescope) Dr. Victor Whale had made numerous attempts to hit on her – which she rebuffed every time – when she was out having lunch with Ruby or playing nice with the other locals. Thank God. Who she dated was, officially, none of his business, but it could not be Victor Whale. He was the worst womanizer Jefferson had the displeasure of knowing – and that included himself B.F. Before Fatherhood.

Things with March finally rounded a corner the other night though, when Jefferson stupidly offered to let her and Percy move in with him for a bit. Things had slowly been falling apart around the flat for a while now, but the absolute last straw was when the elements on the stove stopped turning on.

“It is literally the flat from hell,” she moaned, throwing herself onto his couch, careful not to spill the wine in her glass. “I mean I could handle the no hot water, the leaky pipes, and the glitchy electricity – I like candles – but no stove? How the hell am I supposed to make tea? The store is fine. The store is perfect.”

“Well at least you have that?” Jefferson offered, trying to find some silver lining in her current situation.

“So then what in bloody hell is wrong with my flat? I might just have to live in my shop. Both Gepetto and Grumpy can’t do anything about the repairs for at least a month. A month! I might as well be back in the dark ages, sewing my own clothes, and churning my own butter.”

“Why don’t you just stay with me?” he offered jamming his hands into the pocket of his black jeans, trying to avoid looking at her as he spoke.

March blinked several times as her eyes softened as she tried to process Jefferson’s offer, certain she must have misheard him. “Jeff… Jefferson, are you sure?” she asked slowly,

“Yeah,” he scoffed quickly, turning around to look at her. She was surprised, and not laughing at him, it was safe to look. “You go running every morning just so you can use my shower, we enjoy each other’s company, and you’re here every night anyways. Why not just move in for a bit, at least until the others can get in and fix the place properly.”

 _Good idea Jefferson,_ he chastised mentally. _Invite the woman you’re currently in love with to come, and live with you… Nothing could possibly go wrong... This will end well for you._ His head screamed ‘bad idea’ to him, but he was no longer in control of his mouth and continued anyways. “You’d have your own room, and you could even bring Percy with you – I know you get anxious leaving him alone.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to begin to pay you back.”

“Don’t,” he quieted her with a wave of his hand. “What’s the point of having such a big house, to sit and live in it all alone? You’d be doing me a favour really by moving in; at least this way I get to share it with somebody. Besides, with all that hot water – you could shower twice a day.”

“Oh, you do know your audience,” March sighed dreamily after opening her eyes from a blissful daydream of showering whenever she felt like it. “Alright. Lets do this,” she grinned broadly, laughing as she threw her arms around him. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” she added giddily, jumping up and down in excitement. “I’ve never had a flat mate before. Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“Yeah,” he sighed slowly in agreement, wrapping an arm around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder as he stared at the ground. “Fun.”

 

* * *

 

She moved in two days later. She could have moved in sooner, but she wanted to wait until her next full day off so she could pack and get set up in one go rather than prolong the process. It didn’t take her long to pack, just a couple bags of clothes and other necessities and she was all set. Jefferson showed her the spare room that she’d be using, the second largest room in the house aside form his master bedroom. It was the same room she’d woken up in after the incident in Regina’s office. March had been over so many times by now she basically had the house’s layout already memorized, but Jefferson still gave her the official grand tour after she dropped her bags off in her room.

Flopping down on the bed he watched as she pulled clothes out of her trunk, and started putting things away. She wasn’t the only who’d never had a flat mate before, aside form the couple years Elena lived with him, he’d never lived with a woman, or anyone for that matter. Grace was different of course; she was his child. “So, how does this work?” he asked folding his fingers behind his head as he watched her work.

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

“This roommate thing,” he clarified. “How does it work?”

“Well typically we just go on doing our daily routines, but we share the house – and I pay you rent for my room.”

“Don’t you dare,” her warned with a stern look, holding up a menacing finger in her direction.

“Jefferson don’t be ridiculous – surely you have a mortgage to pay, not to mention the fact that your electricity, and utility bills are going to go up with me living here now,” March tried to argue as she dug out a few more items from her bag, and put them away in the large oak dresser.

“What’s a mortgage?” Jefferson looked at her bewildered, nose crinkled slightly. For someone who believed in the curse, March still had a little difficulty comprehending how everything translated from fairytale world to real world. “And it’s not like the bills will go up that much now that you’re sleeping here. Like I said, you’re the one doing me a favour by moving in. I don’t want your money.”

“Fine,” March sighed, hanging a couple more shirts up. “At least let me pay for dinner tonight – as a thank you?”

“Deal,” Jefferson chuckled. “I have another one for you,” he added, eagerly sitting up on the bed. So far he managed to help March solve three identities. All it took was one strategically planned hint, and she’d get it.

“Ooh, okay,” March beamed, hopping onto the bed next to him. Sitting cross legged she rubbed her hands together eagerly in anticipation. “Shoot.”

“Mother Superior,” he grinned mischievously at her.

“Okay,” March nodded, awaiting her clue.

“Her real name is Reul Ghorm—”

“The blue fairy?” March replied instantly, before Jefferson even got to use his clue.

“How did you know that?” he grinned. Didn’t matter that she always got the answer right on her first try, he was always blown away by her logic and intelligence.

“Reul Ghorm is Scots Gaelic for Blue Star. In the movie Pinocchio, Gapetto makes a wish on a blue star, and it’s the blue fairy who makes the wish come true.” She bounced slightly on the spot, clearly satisfied with her answer.

“Okay, smart ass,” Jefferson smirked, trying to think of a harder one. “I’ve got another one for you.”

“Bring it,” March grinned back at him, pushing him slightly, playfully taunting him.

“Dr. Whale,” he replied, taking secret delight in the way March’s lip curled at the sound of his name. “Is not from our world, I know because he and I use to be business associates,” now it was his lip that curled when he recalled the memory. “And his first name, Victor, is one of the few to remain unaltered by the curse.”

March sat in silence, processing everything she’d just heard. He was someone not from a Grimm Fairytale, by the name of Victor. Victor Whale. Victor… Whale. “Dr. Frankenstein,” she whispered under her breath.

“What?” Jefferson stared jaw dropping slightly. He was sure he was going to finally stump her with that one.

“James Whale is the name of the director of the 1931 horror film Frankenstein, he also directed the Bride of Frankenstein in 1935. And Dr. Frankenstein, was inspired by Mary Shelley’s husband, Percy Shelley, who was a known womanizer – which explains his obnoxious personality,” she paused, though they both knew she didn’t to explain that any further. “And Whale is a doctor because he’s the only character with any medical experience – I’m guessing.”

“I’m never going to be able to stump you – am I?” Jefferson chuckled with a shake of his head.

“Don’t give up,” March grinned, giving him a flash of her ‘crazy eyes,’ unaware just how that look set his blood on fire. “Come on,” she nudged him playfully, “lets get some dinner.” Getting up off the bed she turned around and pulled Jefferson up on to his feet.

He wasn’t expecting her to use so much force, which caused him to stumble over his own feet slightly, falling right into her arms. She balanced him out, like she always did, with a sweet little smile of her face, their noses maybe an inch apart at most. Suddenly Jefferson felt as though someone where strangling him as he fought to try and keep his breath steady while his heart beat erratically in his chest.

“Easy there,” she smiled cheekily at him. “You alright?”

“Fine,” he breathed shakily after a moment, not wanting to let go of the arm he instinctively reached out to for balance. “You go ahead, and get the car started. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Alright,” she smiled back at him, her hands finally, regrettably, letting go from where they’d been wrapped around his waist.

Jefferson lingered just a second longer in her room, looking around at the half unpacked trunk, and opened closet. This was real. He’d see her every morning when she woke up, and every night just before she came here, to this room, to sleep. Now he’d have nowhere to hide his madness, or his feelings, from her. Was he really ready for March to see the real Jefferson? It was too late for him to change his mind. She was living with him. That thought excited him far more than they scared him.

 _Idiot,_ he cursed to himself while resting his forehead against the wall, flicking the light switch off before taking after March.

 


	13. Whispers in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March spends her first night in Jefferson's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied. This is also a super short one... Sorry. I'm trying to draw out what I have in my reserve to last as long as possible until I get a chance to write more... So for now you'll just have to bear with shorter updates... But better to have them be short and come out on time, than to have large chunks with long periods of nothing! .... At least That's what I'm hoping...

Flashing images of a dark room filled with the sound of a man’s laughter as he whispered the words, “ I’ll give you something to be afraid of,” and the feeling of his hands around her neck, squeezing and choking her, until finally everything fades to black sent March bolting up from her sleep.

Heart racing, head pounding, her forehead beaded with sweat the familiar sting of tears trickle down her cheeks as she tried to steady her quivering breaths. Frantically she looked around, trying to recall her location. Noticing the pale blue paint on the walls her muscles relaxed slightly. She was in her new room at Jefferson’s. She was safe. Now awake, she knew it was only a dream, he was far away now; he couldn’t hurt her anymore. That still didn’t stop her from drawing her knees up close to her chest as she broke down sobbing quietly into her chest.

Grabbing her old Cambridge sweatshirt from the hook behind the door, she slid the sweater over her cotton tank top, and changed from shorts to flannel pajama pants before stepping silently out into the hall. There was no need to wake Jefferson just because she was crying like a frightened child. She’d simply do what she did every night, make a cup of tea, and try to keep herself together long enough until she felt exhausted enough to attempt falling asleep again.

Debating on how badly she actually wanted that cup of tea, March collapsed on to the couch, landing on something hard… And moving. “What in seven hells?” She shrieked, leaping off the couch, and landing on to the floor.

“Relax, it's just me,” Jefferson groaned sitting up in the dark just as the moon shifted, casting a dim shadow around him.

“What are you doing here in the dark?” She wondered still slightly panicked as she got up off the floor. Backside smarting from where she landed, she climbed on to the couch after Jefferson shuffled down to make room for her.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorted quietly.

“I . . . uh . . . couldn't sleep,” she answered softly, rubbing away the last traces of her tears, hoping to hide them in the darkness.

“Bad dreams?”

“Something like that,” she agreed with a feeble nod of her head. “What about you? Couldn't sleep either?”

“No,” he replied sternly. “I just . . .”

“Grace,” March finished for him, understanding, like she always did.

“Yeah,” he agreed as his gaze drifted over towards the window with the telescope. Almost every night he woke up, driven from his sleep by the pain filled memories of losing her, and watched her for a little while through the telescope. Most nights she lay asleep, peacefully, but others she would wake up from some terrible nightmare. Those were the nights where his heart ached the most, seeing his child in distress but unable to do anything to comfort her. Those were the nights he hated Regina most. Tonight was one of those nights.

“So what were you dreaming about?” He wondered looking over in March's general direction, hoping for some kind of distraction. Perhaps he could help at least one of the women in his life with their nightmares.

“They're not so much dreams, as memories,” she admitted softly, curling herself up into a ball at the end of the couch. She didn't want to burden him further with her psychosis. Jefferson had enough grief, and heartache of his own, he didn't need to add her to the mix. “It's not a big deal though… Don't worry about me.”

“It is a big deal,” he argued quietly, scooting closer to her. “You've been crying, I can hear it in your voice,” he explained when he caught her look back at him, startled by his observation. “What is it?” he prompted her to continue by reaching out a comforting hand, lacing her fingers with his.

Judging by the concern in his voice, Jefferson was genuinely interested, and he wasn't going to drop the topic until she told him what he wanted to know. With a sigh, she yielded, knowing it would just be easier to tell him than to draw it out further.

“It's Jack,” she squeaked in a tiny little voice better suited for a mouse. Gulping hard, she forced herself to continue despite the sting of fresh tears pricking her eyes. “I close my eyes, and… I feel him. I feel his hands around my throat, squeezing… Choking me until I pass out, and I know. I just know the worse is yet to come. I see the burning rage behind his eyes, and I hear the cruelty in his laughter as he keeps saying ‘I'll give you something to be afraid of' over and over again,” her voice trembling as she spoke, and she ripped her hand out of his to wrap her arms around her knees.

“How is that nothing?” inquired Jefferson sitting next to her, his protective side flaring up.

“It happens every night.” She admitted it quietly, talking to her knees more than Jefferson, almost as though she were ashamed to say the words out loud. He was the first person she’d told about the nightmares since Matthew. “Every night it’s the same. I relive that night over and over again every time I close my eyes, until I wake up crying. I know it was years ago, and he’s far away, but I just can’t seem to let it go.” Her resolve crumbled and she started to sob into the silence as she saw his face once more in the shadows.

Without saying a word Jefferson reached over, and pulled her over towards him. Holding her against his chest, wrapping both arms securely around her, he leaned back on the couch, bringing her with him as he massaged her back in a circular motion with his thumbs, pressing a gentle, fatherly, kiss on the top of her head. He said nothing, and instead, just let her cry. It was what she needed most, to let out all that fear, anxiety, and upset, so he’d let her. Then he’d work at trying to comfort her, but for now he’d just be whatever she needed him to be, and in the moment that was a shoulder to cry on.

Together they lay in the darkened living room, quietly lost in their own thoughts. The rhythmic sound of his heart beating in the dark was oddly, and unexpectedly, soothing to March. It was calm and steady, and brought up images of waves ebbing against a long sandy beach under pale moonlight, slowly erasing the day’s footprints in the sand making for a clean slate come morning. But she knew, without even looking, his eyes were a storm, complete with lightening and fierce rains, the very likes that could drown a man if they stared too long. The two images seemed to provide a contrast that defined Jefferson perfectly.

“Someone tried to kill you, and he’s still out there. You have every right to be scared… To be traumatized,” his voice rumbled deep in his chest. The storm was spreading. “Not everyone survives when they try to leave an abusive relationship, you did, but it’s left you scarred.”

“Jack didn’t leave any scars,” she whispered in protest. “Just a lot of bruises and a few broken bones.”

“Not all scars are physical,” he murmured, mentally running fingers over the one spanning his neck. Scars had a way of changing you; no one knew that better than him. “Sometimes invisible scars are worse than the visible ones. No one knows what you’ve been through, they can’t see the effect that experience had on you; as a result you’re left feeling alone… Isolated… Even when you’re surrounded by people because they can’t see how brave you were.”

She said nothing, but he felt March smile. The world took on a kind of serene happiness when she smiled, and he could feel the energy in the room shift because of that. It reached deep into the depths of his soul, and gave him a kind of calm surrender of his own. She understood him, better than any other, but he wondered if she realized just how well he understood her as well. If she knew that she wasn’t alone – not anymore.

Again they fell into silence, but unlike before, it was comfortable. March snuggled in closer to his chest, curling her fingers through the spaces between the buttons of his shirt, so the backs of her fingers rested against his skin – like they’d been the night he realized he was in love with her. He wondered if she could hear his breathing change under her touch, if she felt the way his heart beat a little faster, if she could hear his smile. If she did, she kept it to herself.

Calm, steady breaths soon became slow and uneven with every ragged inhalation, and his eyes burned as he held her, shielding her from the terrors of the night. Jefferson could scarce recall the last time he experienced such fury. Silently into the night he raged; he raged against this faceless man who had hurt March, who beat her, scarred her, and terrified her to the point where she relived the terrors of his actions every night. He raged against the police so inept, and incompetent, in their investigation that they allowed such a monster to still roamed free. Free, where he could harm others, the way he’d harmed March. He knew enough about monsters to know that they never changed; after all, they had them in his world too.

At some point during that night, the two of them fell asleep laying on that couch with March still resting comfortably on Jefferson’s chest with his arms wrapped around her, holding her firmly against him, gladly sharing what ever warmth and comfort he had to offer. And when they woke, he didn’t tell her that it was the best sleep he’d had in months, even better than the first time they’d fallen asleep together.

 

* * *

 

It quickly evolved into a nightly custom in his house. Jefferson, usually still up to work on yet another hat, and check on Grace, would lay his scissors to rest the instant he heard her door open. Then he’d get up from his workbench, and sit with her holding her as she shook, untangling herself from the memory’s vicious hold, assuring her that he was right there for her. Afterwards she’d get up and make them both a cup of tea to soothe their nerves. Once she sat back down with their cups of tea they’d proceed to talk for hours on end, learning every minute detail of the other’s life. Sometimes they watched a movie, or March would read while Jefferson played at his piano.

But every night, faithfully like the rising of the moon, they got up, and stayed up together until the other was well enough to try falling back asleep. Most nights they never even made it back to their respective rooms. At some point they’d pass out on the couch, wrapped in the other’s reassuring embrace under a blanket, until morning. They would wake, and look at one another before laughing at how it happened again. Neither one of them willing to admit to themselves or each other, that waking up in the other’s arms was the best part of their day.

 

 


	14. Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a change to March and Jefferson's nightly routine.

            Jefferson sat completely still, staring at a crumb of something on the counter as last night’s conversation played in his mind, over and over again in a constant loop.

 

* * *

 

They’d been sitting on the couch for the better part of a half hour, trying to decide on a movie to watch.

“What about Captain America?” He asked looking up from her ‘Superhero collection.’ “I don’t think I’ve seen that one yet.”

“I don’t think so… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch it without thinking of you every time I see Bucky on screen.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he asked, handing the DVD collection back over to her. There was no ‘Bucky’ in the Avengers.

Laughing, March grinned back at him, taking her collection and started flipping through to the fantasy section. “You can watch it tomorrow when I’m at the shop.”

Jefferson pouted as he watched her go through the various titles, almost offended that she assumed he wouldn’t be there with her in the store. He didn’t like watching movies, not without her. He was about to say as much when he looked over and saw her big blue eyes, and pleading look staring back at him. With a quick glance down he saw what DVD she held in her hand. With a forced sigh of exasperation he grinned, consenting to her choice. “Fine. We can watch the Half Blood Prince... Again.” Didn’t matter they’d already watched it three times since she moved in, he’d say yes to just about anything if it meant she’d smile at him the way she was right now.

About an hour and half into the film, March set her empty cup down on the coffee table with an unusual clatter, causing Jefferson to tear his eyes away from the screen to check on her. “I want that,” she sighed, unable to take her eyes off the screen while Hermione took hold of Ron’s hand as he lay in the hospital wing after being poisoned.

“You want what?” asked Jefferson, almost certain she wasn’t referring to the poisoning – at least judging from the way she reacted after learning about the drugged tea. She still teased him about that; well, at least they were able to laugh about it now.

“That,” she aimed the remote, freezing the image on the screen. Getting up from the couch she wandered over to the kitchen to put the kettle on for another cup of tea. “I want that.”

“An unconscious ginger?” he mused with a playful smirk. Rolling over on the couch he watched her as she worked in the kitchen, delighted at just how natural and comfortable she’d become in his kitchen, and home in general. His heart ached a little as he forced himself to remember, they were just room mates, and it was only temporary; eventually she’d move back out and he’d be alone – again. “I can get you that. I just have to give Archie a cup of tea.” If he just kept talking then maybe he wouldn’t dwell on how perfect things were right now, and the inevitable moment it’d all go to hell.

March burst out laughing, covering her mouth in a futile attempt to hide her grin, simultaneously making him smile as well. “You’re awful,” she smacked at him lightly, playfully, taking the seat beside him as she waited for the kettle to whistle. “That.” She pointed again at Ron and Hermione. “Them. What they have… I dunno… I guess I’ve always just found it incredibly romantic, being able to fall in love with one’s best friend.”

“Oh?” replied Jefferson, trying to sound non-committal, and ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. From where he was standing it wasn’t romantic, not in the slightest. Being in love with his best friend brought him nothing but heartache and despair as he was forced to remind himself on a daily basis that the life he wanted, the one he imagined for them, was nothing more than a fantasy – a delusion.

“I mean they’re someone who’s seen the very worst in you, and they accept it. They allow you to be who you are flaws and all, and they love you all the same. They’re someone who knows you, really knows you. Who’s seen all your little quirks, but loves them anyways. That, to me, is the perfect relationship. Don’t you think?”

Jefferson nodded. It did sound perfect. Too bad perfect didn’t exist – not in this world.

“Knowing my luck I’m going to just end up being the crazy rabbit lady though,” she huffed, getting back up off the couch as the kettle whistled loudly from the next room. “Surrounded by nothing but rabbits and tea in my old age,” she added, carrying in two fresh cups of tea. Reusing the same mug was fine when you were having the same kind of tea, but new flavour meant new mug – it was a non-negotiable with March.

“Well, at least you’ll always have Harry and the gang,” Jefferson smiled waiting for her to finish setting the tea on the table. From the corner of his eye he caught the small shivers rippling through her body as March cradled her mug close to her body, desperate for it’s warmth. “Come here,” he sighed with a soft chuckle, pulling her in close so she rested one cheek against his chest. _And me,_ he added quietly to himself, as he wrapped his arms around her, sharing what body heat he had to spare. _You’ll always have me,_ he thought before wondering if she could hear his heart hammering deep in his chest, just below where her cheek rested, and if hers beat the same way when he held her? Probably best not to think about that – he wasn’t sure if he could handle the answer. Instead he lifted the remote, as March snuggled up closer against him, and they resumed their film.

* * *

 

Lost in thought, replaying that night over and over in his mind, Jefferson almost missed March sliding a fresh cup of tea in front of him. The brief blur of movement caught his attention. Looking up from his crumb Jefferson caught his favourite pair of blue eyes staring back at him, forcing his face into an involuntary, awestruck smile.

“What’s this?” he wondered, watching as she cleared away the empty cup and saucer.

“A bribe,” she grinned back at him from over her shoulder. “So you’ll stay a little longer, and keep me company.

He contemplated telling her that he’d stay with her as long as she’d have him, no bribe necessary, but he bit it back with another smile, and a small, appreciative sip. God, she knew him too well. She always knew exactly what kind of tea to brew depending on his mood. Looking up from the cup of steaming tea he smiled again, watching her work, so comfortable and in her element here in her little tea shop, with no one but each other for company. It was these little moments, combined with the events of last night that made him wonder – had she been trying to give him a clue? Some small sign to indicate that she had feelings for him as well, that he wasn’t currently the only one in Claritea madly in love with their best friend, or was March simply being March – giving voice to every thought running through her mind? No filter.

There was one way to find out. All it would take is two minutes of insane, intense, stupid bravery, and he would have his answer. Unfortunately that was about two and a half minutes more courage than he currently had. Every time he thought of broaching the subject with her, of possibly taking that leap, he lost his nerve at the last minute and usually started babbling on about hats, or something else equally mundane. He always managed to convince himself that no possible relationship with her could be worth losing the friendship they’d built together. It was better just to have her as a friend and in his life than to risk losing her forever. Wasn’t it?

“Everything alright?”

“Hmm?” mused Jefferson, glancing up from the muffin crumb.

“Something on your mind? You’ve been staring at the crumb awfully hard ever since you sat down,” she giggled.

This was it – his moment of opportunity. He should just ask her now and get it over with, if she said yes, then no worries, and if she said no… Well then he’d always remember her fondly as the sweetest respite he’s ever had in this cursed existence.

“Actually,” he mumbled, clearing his throat, tugging nervously at the cravat wrapped tightly around his throat, feeling as though it were suddenly strangling him. “ I was thinking… More like wondering actually…”

“Oh no,” exhaled March, her brow furrowing. She stopped where she stood wiping the counters, and leaned one hand against the marble counter top, placing another hand on her hip.

At those two little words Jefferson’s heart simultaneously stopped, and sunk out of his chest and into the pit of his stomach. She knew! Was he that obvious? _Shit. Shit. Shit_ he cursed, trying to think of a way to back pedal before she gave him the ‘I think you’re great, but we should really just stay friends,’ speech.

“Incoming,” she warned, blue eyes clouding over as she pointed to the windowpane behind him.

Quickly casting his eyes over his left shoulder he saw the cause for her ire. Strolling towards the front door, hand in his pocket and smug smile plastered in his face was none other than Doctor Victor Frankenstein. She wasn’t rebuffing him, but rather warning him. Not that it ever seemed to bother her, but March’s shop wasn’t exactly a high traffic stop along Main St. but the odd time when she did get a customer, and he was in the shop with her, she gave him a warning – usually a small, discreet signal – so he could hide out in her back room until they left.

With a shrug, Jefferson turned back a round. “I think I’ll stay for this one. Can’t leave you completely defenceless against the good Doctor’s advances, now can I?” he added as he stretched in his stool.

“I think his personality has that under control.”

With a sly grin, Jefferson laced his fingers together as he leaned forward against the counter, casually whispering, “I think that might be the most wicked thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He paused, only to further admire the little grin that crinkled her nose and caused her crazy eyes to briefly flash, then added, “I must be bad influence on you.”

Reaching across the table, March slide her hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze. “Never.” Letting go of his hand, she stole a quick sip of tea from his cup before greeting Victor as he entered the store. “Victor,” she greeted pleasantly enough, but to the trained ear – Jefferson’s ear – there was a subtle strain in her tone as she drew out the first syllable of his name. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“Afternoon Miss Hase,” Victor greeted, already laying the charm on thick as he removed his fine, leather gloves, and took a seat at the counter across from March, and next to Jefferson.

Grinding his teeth together, Jefferson’s lip curled as the doctor, ignoring his presence, sat down. He suddenly felt himself feeling one edge, but not enough to change his mind and retreat to his usual hiding place. He didn’t have the same level of heart racing, palm sweating, panic as when Emma or Mary Margaret stopped by – this was simply a dull throbbing in his temple that seemed to make his blood boil. He noticed the light reflect off the metal portion of the stethoscope oh so casually draped around Whale’s neck, as though he’d been in such a hurry to see March he’d forgotten to remove it. Jefferson knew better. It was nothing more than a ploy, a cheap prop used to try and remind March that he was a doctor, he saved lives, ergo he had to be a ‘good guy.’ Idiot. He didn’t know that obvious trick wouldn’t work on March – not since Jack – she learned form that, she was wiser now.

“I have a quick break for lunch, and I don’t think I can go another day of hospital food,” Whale paused, waiting for March’s polite chuckle before continuing. “And as I was walking, trying to figure out where I could go that I wasn’t sick of or tried before, and I realized that as much as you’ve talked about it – I’ve never actually been in to see your little store. So, I figured what time could be better than the present to remedy that? Especially if it means seeing my favourite English export.”

The smile never faltered from March’s face, though there was something darkening her face as she gently informed the Doctor the nature of her business. “Sorry to disappoint Doctor, but I’m afraid I don’t actually sell food items here – just tea and the accessories necessary to make a good cup.”

“Well, lucky for me I was more in the mood for something sweet anyways,” he countered, giving March a once over with his eyes. She was about to argue, to perhaps repeat herself when Whale cut her off with, “So how about I pick you up for some dinner and dessert around eight?” with a flash of his most charming, ‘I’m here to dazzle you’ smile.

Jefferson’s lip curled into a sneer, and rolled his eyes. Whale was so preoccupied with March that he never even bothered to look around and see who else he might be bother with his shameless attempts of flirting. Keeping his gaze on the counter Jefferson realized just how much he missed the old Victor, the one who preferred doodling in his little notebooks, and playing with cadavers. That guy was less of a creep than the bafoon currently occupying the seat next to him.

Without even stopping to think of some excuse as to why she wouldn’t want to go out with Doctor Whale, March replied, “Sorry, but I have plans this evening,” then continued with whatever it was she was doing behind the counter. From the looks of it she was transferring some new product into the jars where she kept the tealeaves on display on the shelves.

            Both Whale and Jefferson straightened in their seats, but only Whale spoke. “Oh? And what might those be?” he wondered, intrigued by this sudden obstacle, not entirely sure if she was actually telling him the truth or merely trying to brush him off – again.

            “Dinner and a movie,” she shrugged without bothering to look up and gage their reactions.

            “A date?” Whale nodded impressed that someone else had managed to wear down her defences before him. “That is a surprise. And who is the lucky fellow?”

            “Me,” replied Jefferson, using up his allotted ten seconds of insane courage for the year.

The sudden response from the man next to him drew Whale’s attention away from March, and he looked over noticing Jefferson for the first time since he walked into the store. “Oh?” Whale asked dubiously. “And who might you be?” He swivelled in his seat to take a good long look at – what was in his mind – his competitor, noting at the peculiar way in which this stranger was dressed. He saw the immediate appeal the man might have to someone like March; he was handsome; they seemed to be very close with one another – at least judging from the knowing look they seemed to share in that instant; and they both preferred a manner of style that was far beyond the tastes of Storybrooke. “Have we met before? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” He gave Jefferson the same crude, rushed look over he’d given March her first day in town, though there was no admiration, just surprise. “I’m sure I would remember if I had. People like you tend to stand out.”

From the corner of his eye, Jefferson saw the way Match bristled at the phrase, ‘people like you.’ Without even thinking he reached out, taking her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. It was one, of many, things he loved about her; she didn’t care what people thought or said about her, but she it bothered her to no end to see them mistreat others – especially him, for some reason. He needed her to know he was fine with it, he accepted his fate long ago when the curse first began, when he tried telling people what was going on and they just stared at him as though he’s sprung a third and fourth head.

“A very long time ago – some might even say a lifetime ago,” Jefferson replied darkly, taking his hand away form March’s as he mentally recalled the incident with Regina, and the heart. An incident that to this day remained the biggest, and sole regret in his lifetime. “Jefferson’s the name,” he answered bluntly, with a slightly defensive edge in his tone thinly masked by his usual flamboyancy and flourishes.

“Jefferson,” Whale repeated the name, jogging something in his memory. “I believe I’ve heard stories around town about you.”

“I’m sure you have,” replied Jefferson with a sigh, and a tilt of his head, giving the doctor a flash of his signature, manic smile – adding further credibility to those rumours he now knew were floating around town.

No doubt Whale was referring to the stories Emma and Mary Margaret spread, after that little incident at his house a while ago. No doubt they’d say he took Miss. Blanchard from the prison so that no one knew she had in fact escaped on her own accord, and was running amuck in the forest when she was suppose to be awaiting her arraignment. “People will talk,” he added with a wry grin, calmly taking another sip of tea. “I’m afraid there’s not much else to do in a small town like Storybrooke.”

“How very true,” Whale agreed, swallowing a hard gulp of air, lending a brief second to wonder what kind of stories people circulated about him. “You certainly have interesting friends, Miss Hase,” he observed, looking over to March.

“The only kind worth having in my opinion,” March countered with a friendly smile in Jefferson’s direction.

“So – how long has this been going on? Surely Ruby had a field day when she learned that our favourite tea shop owner finally found someone to share her English Breakfast blend with.” Whale snickered at his own innuendo.

“It’s recent,” replied Jefferson, trying to hide his disdain.

“Very recent,” March, practically beaming, grinned in his direction. The storm brewing behind those piercing eyes had passed and had returned to sunny skies.

Whale didn’t miss the way their eyes seemed to spark, or the small glow beneath their skin, as March and Jefferson looked at each other, but there was something in their tones that suggested to him something was off. Studying the way this Jefferson regarded March with nothing but steadfast adoration, and March’s response with shy modesty.

“Ah – this wouldn’t happen to be a first date now, would it?” he observed with a smug smirk. “Well, good to know that I might still have a chance then.”

“Fraglich,” March muttered under her breath. Jefferson didn’t quite know what the word meant, but given her tone he assumed it meant something along the lines of ‘doubtful.’ “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you Dr. Whale. Perhaps you should try Granny’s for lunch. I heard she has her famous clam chowder on special today.” _And Ruby is wearing those shorts that I know you’re particularly fond of, but pretend not to notice,_ March thought looking over at Jefferson smothering a smile as he read her mind the moment she mentioned Granny’s.

“I might just do that – thank you for the suggestion,” said the doctor, throwing his coat back on, adjusting it over his stethoscope. “Have a lovely evening, tonight,” he looked from March to Jefferson. “I look forward to hearing about it at the diner tomorrow.” Getting up from his seat he offered a final, pleasant, goodbye to March and ignored Jefferson completely before heading out the door.

March waited for the door to slam shut behind him before turning, offering an apologetic look to Jefferson. “I am so sorry. I don't know why I told him that,” she explained hastily. “I'll just make something-"

“Why don’t we?” he asked softly, tapping into next year’s supply of courage. At this rate he’d use up another decades supply before the day was out. “Go out that is,” he explained after an uneasy moment of silence between them. "I mean one night couldn't hurt. Right?"

“Are you serious?” March stood back, almost dropping the cup in her hand from sheer shock. “You want to go out… With me… In public?”

“And why is that so hard to believe?” demanded Jefferson, baffled by her confusion. Or, was that reluctance he heard reflected in her tone?

“Because it goes against the very definition of being a recluse… Which you are,” replied March with a playful flippancy.

Jefferson chuckled before reaching across the counter, taking her hand in his. “And I wouldn’t do it for anyone, but you,” he promised before kissing the back of her hand.

Taking a deep breath March paused; she was touched by Jefferson’s offer to brave the judgemental stares and whispers of the town he feared so much – for her. “Alright,” she smiled. “Should we just go from here or– ”

“What? No,” Jefferson scoffed.

“What do you mean no?” she laughed, mildly confused – not something that happened often for her, but something Jefferson had managed to do on more than one occasion – one of the many reasons why she enjoyed his company as much as she did.

Feel brazened by her acceptance his offer Jefferson was able to force himself through the conversation without spluttering or branching off onto the topic of hats – bowler vs top was his go to. “Whale thinks it’s a date,” Jefferson reminded her with a secretive twinkle in his eye. “Aren’t I supposed to pick you up? Come on,” he goaded after seeing the skepticism in her eyes. “It’s my first _date_. I don’t want to mess it up,” he nudged her arm playfully, hopefully leading her to believe he was just joking around with her. For added emphasis he did his best to offer up a casual chuckle – to mask the frantic thundering of his heart.

“Alright then,” March cocked her head at him, yielding. “Fair enough.” She bobbed her head as she grinned laughing giddily at the idea, “we’re going on a  _date_.”


	15. Like Real People Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time comes for March and Jefferson's date...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually had a very hard time trying to figure out where to end this... Hoping I made the right choice... This chapter is kinda long... Wish I could say I was sorry... But I'm not.

"She's so excited,” Ruby gushed, pouring Leroy another cup of coffee, spilling a little on the counter next to him. “It is so cute. You’d think she’d never been on a date before.”

“I just want to know who this mystery guy is,” Granny added from behind the register while counting the lunchtime receipts.

“I don’t know.” Ruby shrugged. March hadn’t said much when she called asking for help with her hair tonight. All she bothered to tell Ruby was that she had a date with a guy tonight, and she wanted to look special for him. “I hope they come by tonight. I want to see this mystery guy. I thought I knew every man in Storybrooke.”

“So did I,” Granny agreed gruffly.

“I wonder if it’s August,” whispered Ruby excitedly after a second’s thought. “I mean wouldn’t it make sense? They’re both writers, they’ve travelled all over the world, far beyond Storybrooke, kind of wild yet sweet. They’d make a cute couple.”

“Who’d make a cute couple?” inquired Henry as he took a seat at the counter, with Emma close behind him.

“March and August,” Ruby explained quickly, wiping away the coffee she spilled earlier.

“Are they dating?” wondered Emma, shrugging out of her coat. August had just taken her out on his motorcycle a couple days ago. While it was far from a date there had been, what she thought was, some romantic tension there. Then again she’d seen the way Whale flitted from woman to woman, was it such a stretch that August was a natural flitter too?

“We don’t know,” replied Granny, before Ruby had a chance to carry on about one of her romantic fantasies. “March called Ruby a few hours ago to say she had a date with some mystery man, and asked if Ruby could help her pick out an outfit for tonight. We have been trying to figure out who it could be.”

“Good for her for finding the time between running the shop and other things,” Emma shrugged. “You really think she and August would make a good couple?” she wondered aloud. “August is just so… Normal, and I mean March is super sweet, but she’s a little…” she struggled to find the right word without coming across as a total bitch.

“Nutso? Crazy? Kukoo?” added Leroy helpfully filling in the blanks between bites from his burger. “You don’t have to tip toe around it for my sake sister. I know that gal you’re talking about, the British dame with all the ink, who runs the tea shop down the street. Always talking about something to do with nothing… If it’s even in English.”

“She’s not crazy,” piped up Henry, defending his friend.

“I’m not saying she is certifiable,” argued Leroy. “All I’m saying is that trying to follow a conversation with the kid is exhausting, and don’t even bother trying to get her to sit still. Always fidgeting. Something ain’t right there.” He tapped the side of his head while giving Emma, Granny and Ruby a knowing look.

“Well I agree with Henry,” Ruby scolded Emma and Leroy as they sniggered. “I like her, she’s fun. So what if she’s a little… Quirky?” Looking up she spotted March walking towards the door followed by a man. She couldn’t see his face, but from what she could see she could tell he was tall and had dark hair. “Oh my God! They’re coming!” she squealed with excitement, eager to finally see this hunk who set little March's heart a fire, at least enough for her to actually agree to go out on a date. For weeks now she’d been dying to set March up with some of the eligible men of Storybrooke, and for weeks March had been giving her every excuse imaginable not to go out. It had to be someone very special for March to agree to go out with them.

Ruby was not disappointed. The man who came in behind March was in a word: gorgeous. Thick, tousled, dark brown hair, strong square jaw, and a pair of hypnotic blue eyes trained solely on March. Ruby was already jealous. He dressed well too. Beyond the usual first date button down shirt and form fitting jeans, his attire resembled something an extra on Pride and Prejudice might wear. Tight black pants, with a silk charcoal collared shirt with some intricate design that looked as though it belonged on castle drapes, but it matched the even darker grey tailcoat he wore over top the shirt, and pale grey silk cravat. Never in all her life had she ever seen a man actually wear a cravat. Before they’d even sat down, Ruby could tell this man was perfect for her friend, and already started mentally planning their wedding.

 

* * *

 

Jefferson hardly noticed the people already sitting in Granny’s when he and March arrived. He was too consumed with watching her. She’d been waiting for him outside of the apartment above her shop, hair done and make up on. Early spring winds had everyone bundled up in their cold weather jackets, and March was no exception. His navy blue peacoat artfully concealed the rest of her outfit from his view, leaving him to wonder what she might be wearing for him tonight. The sight of her, however, standing beneath the street lamp with her honey brown hair pinned to one side so her loose curls cascaded down over her shoulder in a rippling waterfall of caramel tresses, the light reflected off the golden undertones of her hair to create an angelic halo, was enough to make his heart race.

Standing now in Granny's he waited to take her – well technically it was his – coat from her before sitting down. He thought to himself how this really wasn't the best place for a first date, burgers and vinyl booths didn't exactly scream ‘romantic atmosphere’, but it performed the function they needed. Jefferson’s heart leapt in his throat the moment he turned back around, completely and totally unprepared for the sight that awaited him.

He didn't know who this woman was, but she was clearly not his March. His March wore blue jeans, combat boots, over sized sweaters, hoodies and plaid shirts, nerdy tee shirts, a wide variety of styles, none of which involved dresses or skirts. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if she owned a dress before tonight. The woman standing before him was a goddess, the likes of which precious few mortal men had the privilege to gaze upon in true form. Dressed in a two tone dress, cream lace decorated the top, while her skirt was flowing silks in a rich forest green, accentuated by the Merlot colour of her velvet peep toe pumps. Now that they were indoors he could see that her make up, which was always on the minimal side, accentuated her eyes by adding a smoky shadow to make the bright blues of her irises pop even more than usual.

“Aren't you going to tell me I look pretty?” She asked cocking her head to the side, smoothing the silks of her skirt before sliding into the booth.

“No,” he replied, taking his seat opposite of her.

“No?” She repeated, surprised. That wasn’t an answer she was expecting. A curious smile toyed on her strawberry stained lips as she eyed him sideways, wondering where he was going with this.

“No, because that would be a single, solitary, confining word. And trying to use only one word to define you would be to insult you. No single word is enough.” He leaned in over the table, whispering close so only she could hear what he had to say. “I could list hundreds of words, each one more perfect than the last, and yet every single one of them would be insufficient in accurately conveying how I think you look tonight. Surely such a word does not exist.”

March looked down a faint blush dusting her cheeks. It had been one of the most beautiful things anyone had ever said about her, and it was making it difficult for her to breath. “And here I thought I was the writer,” she admitted after taking a second to regain her breath, giving him an airy chuckle.

“You are,” he agreed with his signature grin.“I just told you, I have no words.”

“Well,” she breathed, still unable to hide the smile from her face, “for someone without any words, you’re doing very well for yourself. And, might I add, you look quite dashing tonight, as well.”

Jefferson’s cheeks turned a rosy hue, and the tips of his ears burned with a fierce crimson at her compliment. He didn’t know what to say. “I’m not wearing anything special,” his eyes shifted uncomfortably. Having never actually been on a date, he just changed into a fresh shirt, with a matching cravat, and hoped for the best.

“Then I suppose you always look dashing.” A coy smile replaced the modest one on her lips earlier as she leaned back in her seat watching his reaction.

 _Damn, that was smooth,_ thought Jefferson, shifting uncomfortably in the booth. Granny must have had the heat cranked on in the diner tonight to combat the early spring chill. His palms were sweating, so was his lower back, and his neck… Actually most of his body was sweating at an unusual rate. Mercifully, Ruby spared Jefferson from having to try and come up with some equally witty reply by bringing over a couple of menu’s and asking if they wanted anything to drink. “You want to split a bottle of wine?”

“Sure,” March agreed enthusiastically. “Something white though, if that’s alright, I can’t stand red.”

“How about the Pinot Grigio?” He asked, picking the first thing he saw listed under whites. Personally he had no preference, never having been much of a wine drinker, though, he could recommend several delightful Munchkin ales, and the brandy from Camelot was particularly flavourful.

“Now, how did you know that was my favourite?” March grinned, her face glowing, at him.

“Alright, one bottle of Pinot Grigio coming right up,” confirmed Ruby, giving March an appreciative look and congratulatory smile, before bouncing back to her position at the bar. Unfortunately Ruby was alone in celebrating this new development in March’s life.

 

At the bar, unable to take her eyes off the two, Emma sat with her brows furrowed trying to come up with some way to get March away from Jefferson, safely. She meant it when she said she liked the girl, she was sweet as hell, but she was always trying to see the best in everyone, and it was bound to get her killed, or worse knowing this guy. Memories of what transpired at Jefferson's, shortly before March arrived, played in Emma's mind, and it sent chills down her spine. Her life as a bail bonds person was one of the few things that saved her and Mary Margaret from that crazy son of a bitch. March wasn't a fighter. Truth be told she didn’t really know what March was, she hated admitting it, but she always kind of stopped listening whenever March started talking – it was just easier that way, and a lot less confusing. But that didn’t mean she didn’t care. She did. And she didn't want to know what a nut job like Jefferson might do to someone as sweet, and trusting as March. Emma knew she had to do something. But what?

 

Ruby returned with the bottle of wine and two glasses a couple minutes later, leaving the bottle opened for Jefferson and March to pour themselves. Beads of sweat lined Jefferson’s brow as shaky hands reached for the bottle and began to pour. All afternoon he prepared for how tonight would go to ensure his nerves didn’t get the best of him, only he didn't account for his hands betraying him. He could only hope that she didn't notice the constant clinking of bottle against glass as he mentally willed his hands to stop shaking. Sadly, that only seemed to make them shake even more.

“You alright?” March asked softly, noticing the pained expression on Jefferson's face.

“What?” He jerked his head up, lifting the bottle with him, his arm bumping the glass knocking it and all of its contents on to the table. Before he had time to process what happened, March dove further into the booth to avoid being soaked by the incoming river of wine pouring from the tipped glass. Frustrated by his blunder, Jefferson buried his face in his hands, emitting a low, annoyed groan. Less than 10 minutes into the date and he was already ruining. Perfect. Just perfect.

A lesson he was learning late in life was that television lied. Movies lied. Books lied. Nowhere in the countless movies and shows he watched over the years did they depict just how nerve wracking a first date could be. They always seemed so natural and easy going, say something funny, they laugh. Compliment them; they smile. Easy. This was not easy. This was the exact opposite of easy. He had no idea what to say to her, what did you talk about on a date that made it different form talking to her at home? Was there some kind of date conversation list? Were the rules different because they were friends? Why the hell didn’t he prepare more before tonight?

March didn't seem to be having any problems. Then again, she’d probably gone on hundreds of dates with interesting, attractive men who were every bit as well travelled as her. He was way out of his league, and drowning as a result. And now, to make matters worse, he just spilled a full glass of wine on her. Beating his palm rapidly against his forehead he tried to think of something to say, something that preferably did not come across as serial killer-ish.

“Would you relax?” March chuckled with that same airy quality that always seemed to calm him down. Sliding a hand in his, she gave it him firm yet affectionate squeeze. “Just remember, no matter what happens tonight, I’m going home with you.”

“Really?” Jefferson jerked his head up, suddenly ripped away from his usual self-destructive thoughts.

“Well yeah, we live together.” She smiled, her face glowing under the fluorescent lights, unaware of the way his heart now sunk hundreds of meters within his chest as a result.

“Oh… right,” he forced an uncomfortable laugh. “About that… Maybe tonight isn’t the best.” He could tell he was floundering from the way March’s brown quirked up at him. He’d managed to confuse even her. That was rare. “I just mean, going home with a man, after the first date… People will talk.”

“So? Let them.” March shrugged. “I don’t care what they say.”

“You should,” Jefferson cautioned, his voice grave. “In a town like this, you make one mistake, and they have the power to ruin your life forever.”

“Only if you let them,” March argued, her head naturally tilting slightly to the right as she smiled back at him. Reaching over the piles of wine infused napkins, March cupped his cheek. “I’m happy with you, I’m not going to let anyone ruin that. So let them say what they want. It’s not going to bother me.”

Jefferson took a couple shaky breaths as he continued staring back at the woman across form him. The longer he stared at her the more he wondered just how he’d been lucky enough to meet her, to be able to call her his friend. Not just his friend. His best friend. Slowly the smile started to fade as the same old fears niggled in the back of his mind once again. He shouldn’t be out with her, not like this. It was miracle enough that March found herself in Storybrooke, and what she was doing as his friend still remained a mystery, even to him. No. This was a mistake. He never should have suggested they go out tonight. What was he thinking? Without even noticing, Jefferson’s hand started to shake again.

“Jefferson, what’s going on?” wondered March, taking hold of his hand in attempt to quell the shaking. “You're not usually this jumpy.”

“Sorry,” he apologized brusquely, forcibly stopping his fidgeting. “Nerves.”

“Look, if you're not comfortable being here we can call this off. I don't mind grabbing take out, and watching movies at home, if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“What?” He asked, both his eyebrows shifting upwards.

“I just know it must be difficult seeing everyone like this, knowing who they are, even when they don't. I just don't want you getting overwhelmed on my account. I’ll find a way to deal with Whale. I’m not worth your mental well being.”

True, the idea of spending the night amongst all the people he use to know from their life in the Enchanted Forest to serve as grim reminders of they way it use to be, did not rank highly on his list of pleasant experiences. But he had come to town before, back in the early days of the curse. That was how he learned it was just easier to stay away, locked up in his big old house; living the same old dull routines day in and day out, it hurt less. Seeing the people he use to know as the most superficial shells of who they were pained him. He'd rather be alone than pretend. That was his curse, not only to lose his daughter, but to be burdened with the disability of knowing and having no one to believe him. His lips twitched back into an uneasy, awkward smile. She had no idea of the power she had over him. Dare he tell her that the power she just prescribed an entire town in fact belonged to her, and her alone?

“I'll be fine,” he assured her, reaching over grazing her hand with his fingers. Seeing the reassured smile light up her face had a calming effect on him. _Just pretend you at home watching movies, this is just any other night_ he reminded himself. With that in mind they soon fell into a comfortable conversation, discussing whatever popped into their minds.

 

* * *

 

The familiar ring of her phone cut Jefferson off mid-sentence as he was telling March about the time he travelled to Neverland, and was running through the forests from some of the lost boys and their deranged leader – Pan.

Digging into her coat pocket March checked the caller ID flashing across her screen. “Oh, it's Tony,” she sighed, flashing him an apologetic look. For three days now she had been dodging calls from her agent, claiming that he was probably just hounding her to get that manuscript she promised him finished, and she was still only three quarters of the way finished. She intended to finish it, only life got a little busier than she expected and her writing kind of fell to the way side. “I should probably get this.” There was no avoiding Tony forever. “I'll be right back.” Scooting to the edge of the booth she waited until she was halfway to the front door before hitting the green button on the screen, accepting the call.

“Tony, darling, how are you?” She asked holding the phone a couple inches away from her ear as Tony began shrilly screeching in her ear.

That was the last thing Jefferson heard. She was out the door, sitting at one of the numerous picnic tables outside. _Okay,_ he thought to himself whilst drumming his fingers on the table, _incident with the wine aside, this isn’t going so bad._ He just had to find a way to make through to the end of dinner, and back home without completely ruining it and perhaps tonight wouldn’t turn out so awful after all.

 

* * *

 

 

No small amount of charm went into March’s trying to calm Tony down, while simultaneously assuring him that she wasn’t ignoring his calls on purpose. The reason why she hadn’t been picking up was because she was really working very hard on her manuscript but between starting a business and establishing a life in a new town somethings took precedence. One teensy little white lie wouldn’t kill her. Having single handily talked Tony down from coming out to Storybrooke to check up on her; tying her to her desk to finish her manuscript; and assure him that she missed him as much as he missed her, she hung up the phone. She loved Tony. Really. There were very few people, who genuinely got a kick out her signature brand of quirkiness, and Tony was one of them, and of course he loved the fact that she was one of the few people with the kind of high energy, hyperactive mentality to keep up with his ‘fabulous’ lifestyle.

“No one ever goes out with me anymore. Now I’m lucky if I go out to the clubs three times a week. When you were here we’d be out until three every night,” he had sulked on the phone.

Promising to come out and visit once she had everything settled here in Storybrooke, and she would bring the rough draft of her latest manuscript she turned to go back and rejoin Jefferson at the table so they could hopefully order some food before the next crisis arose. She didn’t even make it to the door before the next crisis reared its golden blonde head.

Coming out from the shadowy shrubs by the door, Emma cut March off before she had a chance to grab the door handle.

“Hey, can we talk?” Emma asked coming between March and the door.

“Uh, sure,” March shot her a confused look before looking forlornly at Jefferson waiting inside. Poor thing. He looked somewhere between bored to death, and on the verge of hanging himself with his cravat. Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice Emma taking her hostage for the time being. Stepping over to the side, out of his line of vision, March sat down at the picnic table. “What can I do for you Miss Swan?” She asked politely but with enough edge in her voice to indicate that while she didn’t oppose this conversation it wasn’t entirely welcomed.

“What the hell are you doing going out with that guy?” Emma whispered sternly. “I know he seems charming, but I’ve dealt with Jefferson before. The guy is all kinds of crazy.”

The words struck March as sharply as though Emma had just slapped her, and the pleasant look fell from her face. “Don’t say that,” she said defensively. “He’s my friend, and he’s not crazy.”

“Listen I know you want to see the best in people, but some are lost causes, and he’s one of them,” argued Emma. “You don’t want to get mixed up in that. Trust me.”

“Emma,” March sighed. “Thank you for the concern, and even more so for giving me a chance to actually quote Harry Potter but, ‘I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.’” Rising up from where she sat, March turned to go back inside when Emma grabbed her arm, keeping her where she stood.

Jerking her arm, March glared at the sheriff. “Let go of me,” she warned in a low, aggravated tone.

Emma quickly released her hold on March’s bare arm. “I’m serious March. He’s not like you; he doesn’t just blurt out random words, or wander off to la la land when he feels like it. He is full tilt Norman Bates Psycho, okay. He actually tried forcing me to make a magic hat… At gunpoint. He is dangerous.”

“Okay first of all that was a toy gun, and stop calling him crazy just because he believes and you don’t,” snapped March before taking a breath. “Look, I know all about that incident at his house, and I understand why you might think the things that you do. But if you just got to know him, you’d see he isn’t crazy… He’s in pain, a lot of it. All he wants is his daughter back without subjecting her to the same kind of torture he’s had to endure in this world. You’re a parent. Surely you can understand.”

“There is no curse,” argued Emma passionately.

“Isn’t there?” argued March, matching her intonation. “ Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that there is something incredibly wrong with this place.”

“Okay, yes this place is a little messed up, but there is no such thing as magic, or curses.”

“Well in the words of another childhood hero of mine: when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,  _however improbable_ , must be the truth,” quoted March. 

“There is no such thing as curses,” argued Emma. “They’re impossible.”

“To you,” March pointed out. “They are impossible to you. Not to me, and not to Jefferson. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to my date with a man who belives.” Taking a calming breath, banishing all this negativity from her mind, and throwing her shoulder’s back, standing proud and tall March walked back inside.

Emma watched as March returned to Jefferson, smiling sweetly towards him. She was too late. Whatever he said to her, he’d already brainwashed March. There was no way in hell she was going to let Jefferson do anything to hurt her. Sitting back down at the table, Emma was determined to come up with some plan to make March see just how crazy Jefferson really was. Maybe then she would see that he was beyond rehabilitation. The only problem was Jefferson made hiding that crazy ass nature of his an art; he seemed so normal when she first met him. How wrong she’d been. There had to be some way she could show March the crazy son of a bitch that hid beneath that seemingly calm exterior. Whatever she did, it’d have to be drastic. Then, slowly, she realized March had already given her the answer.

There was one thing in all of Storybrooke that could bring out the insanity that lurked behind those piercing blue eyes. Whipping out her cell phone she quickly dialled home, hoping it wouldn’t be too late for her plan to work.

 

* * *

 

 

“Everything okay?” asked Jefferson as March sat back down across from him.

“Fine,” she confirmed with a curt nod and forced smile. “Tony sends his love.”

“Why?” He looked back at her confused as to why Tony would be sending love to a man he never even met, or why he would even be acknowledging Jefferson at all for that matter.  

“Because,” she scoffed, “he knows you’re important to me, and anyone who can keep up with me is, ‘too fabulous not to love’ – his words not mine.”

“Lucky me,” he replied dryly. The distinct feeling that Tony would be choking on his words if he ever actually met Jefferson hung over his head. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity.

“Tony’s not that bad,” replied March coming to his defence. “He’s… Like me… Very big personality… Very flamboyant.”

“I wonder what that must be like,” mused Jefferson with a cheeky grin that made her break out laughing. If only she could have seen him back in his portal jumping days – that really would make her laugh. The spiky hair, long billowing black coat, waistcoat, the heavy rings, black leather pants and boots… Then again maybe not. Somehow he doubted she would have liked the person he was back then – he sure as hell didn’t. That guy was a selfish prick, the kind who would have had March retreating back to L.A after a simple hello. All that was a lifetime ago, he was a different person now. And despite what popular opinion might say, he was a better person now.

Shortly after March sat down, Ruby came by asking if they wanted anymore wine, giving March an impressed look, eying the near empty bottle on the table between them. March didn’t have the heart to tell her that the floor had tasted most of that wine, at least not in front of Jefferson. He seemed so humiliated when he knocked the glass over, she didn’t want him to have to relive that – at least for now. It would make great stuff to tease him about down the road however.

A little while later, in the middle of their conversation Jefferson’s entire demeanour changed. He switched from being interested and engaging in the subject, to distant… Distracted. Now granted, March was more than willing to accept that Doctor Who was not everyone’s cup of tea, but she found his sudden transformation alarming. That’s when she noticed the look in his eye, a cross between panic and full on terror. The one that a trapped animal wore when the hunters came to deliver the fatal blow – knowing that what was about to come was inevitable, and being painfully aware that there was no way of avoiding it. Curious, she turned around in her seat to look at door. That’s when she saw her.

“Oh no,” she breathed, seeing the head of long dirty blond hair follow a man and woman over to a small corner booth at the other side of the diner. Grace. What were the chances her ‘parents’ would bring her here for dinner on the same night she and Jefferson were having their ‘date?’  

 _Not chance at all_ she thought, seeing Mary Margaret walk through the doors and immediately head towards the table where the family was sitting with Grace, or as they knew her, Paige. Glancing over in the direction of the door, she saw Emma sitting in the other corner watching them. Before she could go over and say something about the deplorable way in which both she and Miss Blanchard were behaving a glimpse of Jefferson stopped her.

 

He was crashing, hard, spiralling out of control faster and faster by the second. The sight of his daughter is such close proximity, so close he could actually go up and talk to her, well it was enough to cause whatever walls he had carefully built up over the years of distance and isolation to come crumbling down around him leaving his sanity buried in the wreckage. As every carefully placed brick tumbled and fell so did his grip on reality.

Tremors over took his hands as the rest of his body twitched violently. “Her name is Grace,” he muttered bitterly every time he heard someone say the name Paige. The realities started conflicting again, as the lines of fact and fiction merged. What was real? What wasn’t? Who was real? Was anything real? What did it even mean, to be real? Quickly, with staggered breaths, he started hitting the sides of his head as he feebly attempted to grasp reality.

People in the diner, noticing the sudden change in Jefferson’s behaviour, stopped what they were doing to stare at the man’s suddenly odd behaviour. Even Ruby who couldn’t help but find Jefferson a little bit sexy was now looking at him like he’d sprung a second head. The hum of hushed whispers and rushed words filled the otherwise stagnant air of the diner and the weight of everyone’s eyes weighed heavily on the couple.

They were staring at her too.

Looking around helplessly March saw all eyes on her on her, and she could just hear the voices their judging expressions, condemning her for associating with a man who was so clearly unstable. She fought the urge to tell everyone to bugger off, and to go back to their meatloaf. But the end they didn’t matter. Jefferson was her priority.

Violently rocking back and forth in the booth muttering to himself, desperate to keep hold of reality, Jefferson covered his ears trying to block out the voices. All the voices, they were screaming at him. All except one. A sweet and gentle coo drifted in and out like the ebbing of the waves against the sanded beach of consciousness. It was calling his name.

“Jefferson,” March pleaded, beseeching him to open his eyes and look at her. Kneeling before him, her hand gently shaking his knee she ignored the whispers behind her back, and focused her efforts on getting him out of here. There was no telling how severe the damage was until she got him away from its source. Finally, after about the fourth time he gently opened his eyes, peeking at her between his fingers.

“Come on,” she urged, “lets go get some air,” she suggested with a sad, little sympathetic smile.

Reluctantly, he nodded in agreement. He had hoped she would never see him like this, alas it just wasn’t meant to be. How long had it been since he had an episode? It had to have been a couple months now. Then he remembered. He hadn’t had one since the night she arrived. That was the night everything changed for the better. The realization made him want to collapse and sob. He’d been good, so damn good. Why did this have to happen now? Why? Why couldn’t he have just one night? One night to fully enjoy himself, to forget about the curse… To be truly, blissfully happy? One night. Was that really too much to ask for?

Grabbing his coat, and his hand, March led him out the main doors as quickly as possible. Escorting him over to the furthest table, Jefferson sat hunched over, his lips twitching as the darkness swirled rapidly behind his eyes. He was lost in the madness, being tossed about as a ship on the ocean during a storm with no land in sight. His only bet was to try and weather to storm. Lost somewhere inside his head, he felt the tender touch of fingers grazing the side of his face. Looking down at the source of this sweet touch, he found March. She was kneeling before him again, her own pale blue eyes nearly brimming with tears as she watched on helpless to save him, but trying desperately to none the less.

“Just take a couple deep breaths,” she instructed calmly. “I’m going to go inside, and pay. Then we’ll head for home. You wait here, okay?”

The incident shook her almost as much as it had him. And that’s when he knew he lost his chance. Any chance he might have had with her was effectively dashed the shreds when Grace walked through those doors. How could anyone want to be with someone like him – someone who was mad? As wonderful and patient as March was, even she had to have her limits.

“Don’t go wandering off, okay?” she asked starting to get up off the ground. “Please.”

“Okay,” her murmured.

“Okay then,” she nodded, straightening up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “I’ll be right back.”

Heading back inside the diner March walked over to the booth she and Jefferson had shared to grab her jacket. The weight of everyone’s eyes on her combined with the mixed sniggers caused her face to turn to stone. _Bastards, every damn one of you,_ she cursed everyone in the diner twice over _._ Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she slide her jacket over her shoulders, doing everything she could to keep herself from shaking with an insurmountable rage. How dare they? How dare they have the audacity to laugh, to point? They didn’t know what it was like to suffer the way Jefferson did, to live with that kind of chaos always lurking in the inner recesses of the mind. It was enough to make her sick. Quietly she wiped the tears from her face. She wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of knowing how deeply they'd hurt her.

Ruby rang her in quickly, and quietly, avoiding eye contact. When she was finished she handed March the receipt and uttered a low apology to March over her ruined date. At least Ruby had the decency to be apologetic, and offer her sympathies.

Accepting it graciously March nodded stiffly. The whole night felt off, and it was only getting worse. Spotting Emma over by the door March made her way over, taking long purposeful stride.

“What the hell was that?” She hissed, squeezing Emma’s elbow in a vice grip. Dragging her far from where others might hear, March waited impatiently for an explanation, tapping her toes against the linoleum as she fumed.

“You wouldn’t listen to reason,” explained Emma, grasping at straws. “We had to show you what he was really like. I know you want to see the best in people but he isn’t who you think he is March. As I said before, the guy is all kinds of crazy.”

“You call that reason?” demanded March, gesturing in Paige’s direction. “Emotionally traumatizing a man, in front of his own child, to prove a point? That’s disgusting. And if this is what passes for reason in this town Miss Swan, then I want no part of it.” She paused, taking a moment to re-gather her thoughts and maintain some level of composure. “ You know, I might have expected this kind of behaviour from Regina, but you and Mary Margaret?” She stared at both women, taking a disappointed step away from her. “Poor form Miss Swan. Very poor form indeed.” Huffing she turned on her heels and strode away towards the door. With one hand on the handle she turned and faced the diner, dozens of eyes trained on her, wondering what she would do next.

Now the entire town had seen of Jefferson’s alleged madness, it would seem she had a choice. Stay in the diner, stand by the town as one of their own, and lose the best friend she’d ever had, or walk out that door knowing full well that once she did she would never be allowed in again – metaphorically speaking. The symbolism of her situation wasn’t lost on her– stay inside and be apart of the community, or go out and live the life of an outcast. She’d be alone, an outsider looking in – again.

 

It was the town, or Jefferson.

 

She laughed to herself, crazy eyes dancing as she grinned. If those were her options, then it was no choice at all. Her hand didn’t hover on that handle because she was thinking over her options. There was never a doubt, not even for a second, as to what she’d choose. But she needed that moment, just a sweet second to linger, and to let go of the life that would never be. Not for her. 

A sweet serenity filled her, as did the consequences of her decision, as she threw the door wide open. She would choose him. Always.

If she stayed maybe she could belong, but it would never be as herself. She’d be who they wanted her to be, forced to contain her personality, constantly monitoring what she said, trying not to zip around from topic to topic as he mind naturally spider webbed. It wasn’t that the person they wanted was a bad person – it just wasn’t her. She'd be building herself to fit in to the community, and losing herself in the process, but with Jefferson she could build a life to fit her, to fit them. When everyone else was trying to help her fit into the town, Jefferson was the one encouraging her to be herself, never to change.

He liked her for who she was, not who she could be. ' _The world has plenty of Emma's and Mary Margaret's, what it doesn't have is enough March's.'_ Those were his words, that day as she stared longingly in the window of Granny’s, only now she realized what he'd really been saying all along, she just hadn’t been listening earlier.

“Jefferson?” she called, looking around the empty patio. He was gone.  _Son of a Snitch,_  she cursed. Peering out into the darkness she hoped that maybe he was just hiding, playing a game with her. But she knew he wasn’t. Most likely, in his fog, he thought she had sided with the town - against him - and wasn’t coming back. Feeling completely dejected, he started walking home.

 

She had to find him. Now

 

Resting against a near by table, she placed her palm on the dew slicked wooden tabletop to stabilize herself as she bent down. Sliding off her merlot pumps she gathered the shoes in her left hand. The feeling of cement beneath her toes took some adjusting to, it had been raining earlier, and the ground had yet to dry. Allowing herself to take a couple seconds to grow accustomed to feeling of hard cement beneath her feet March took off down the street as fast as her feet would carry her. Fishing the keys out of her pocket as she flew down Main Street, she wouldn’t have far to run, just to her car. From there it would be faster to intercept Jefferson than if she tried catching him by foot. Besides, as cute as they were, there was no possible way her heels could take the gruelling punishment the walk back to Jefferson’s posed. There was also the fact that heels made it near impossible for anyone to run.

Running barefoot down Main Street in early spring was not one of her best ideas. The ground was hard, and with every step of her feet pounding against the cold asphalt tiny tremors of pain resonated through her entire body. _How the hell did ancient man run without the modern convenience of sneakers?_ she wondered. Then she remembered that ancient man went running through the woods and the grasslands of the Serengeti hunting for food, not down town on a Thursday night hunting for their date. God, wouldn’t that be a great television show? They could call it the ‘Urban Jungle’… No… ‘Man Hunt.’ And it would be a bunch of woman running through a city barefoot, looking for their date. That had to be better than half the crap that was already out there.

Lost in thoughts about what kind of locations could be used in ‘Man Hunt,’ March nearly ran past the turn point for the alley where she kept her Buick parked. Quickly doubling back she opened the door, she climbed in, and cranked the keys in the ignition before shutting the door.

Scanning the winding roads leading deep into the woods, March kept her eyes peeled, searching for Jefferson. So far all she’d seen were trees, trees and more trees. How far could one man get on foot? True, he made the trek from home to town regularly, but this was starting to get ridiculous. Factoring the five minute head start he had on her, she should have found him by now.

Rounding another corner on the winding road home, she finally spotted him, walking along the side of the road, shoulders hunched, eyes trained on the road hands balled into fists shoved in the pockets of his long black coat. He hadn’t even bothered to move away from the sound of the car coming towards him. He was in worse shape than she thought. She couldn’t actually see his face, but she knew he was muttering something under his breath. Slowing the car down she pulled up alongside him, rolling down the window.

“Jefferson. Get in the car, you’re going to freeze to death out here.”

Turning his head away from her, he kept walking ignoring her every word as she beseeched him to get in. Trying a couple more times to persuade him into letting her give him a ride her efforts were met to no avail. “Damn him,” she cursed. “You want to play hard to get – fine.” Frustrated by his stubborn streak she sped up the road a ways before jerking the car around with a hard turn, blocking the road entirely effectively cutting off Jefferson’s path in the process.

Getting out of the car she hobbled over to the other side to intercept her maddening wanderer. Grabbing his frozen hand as he attempted to walk past her, she dragged him to a stop. Once he stopped, Jefferson still refused to look at her, instead he stared at the ground about thirty yards past her.

“Look at me, would you?” She pleaded. Gently he allowed her to tilt his head upwards so she could see the swollen reds of his teary eyes. Her heart quivered looking at him, seeing him looking so helpless and dejected. “They shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered, fighting her own bitter tears. “Listen, it’s colder than a dementor’s heart out here, so you can either get in the nice warm car, and we take a quick drive home, or we can walk, and both catch a cold.” She chuckled, a small cloud of breath escaping from her lips on the night air. “Well I might need you to carry me actually,” she looked down at her bare feet, she could barely feel them standing on the frozen ground. “Either way, I’m not leaving you alone,” she warned.

“What happened to your shoes?” was all Jefferson asked, looking down at her feet, perplexed.

“Excellent question,” March agreed. “I don’t know,” she looked up, meeting his gaze. She couldn’t recall what she’d done with her shoes after getting into the car; she’d been so focused on finding him she had no idea where her they went. “I suspect I left them by Claritea. At least I hope that’s where I left them, and not by the dumpster, they’re collecting the garbage tomorrow. I really did like those shoes. They’re the only ones I have in that colour. Though they’re God awful for running in, I suspect I would have broken my neck if I tried running in those shoes... God… Focus March,” she scolded feeling herself getting carried away. “The shoes aren’t what’s important. What is important is that we get you home. And don’t you think that I won’t walk home like this, because I will. I’m serious. I’m not leaving you alone like this to stew, alone is the absolute last thing you need. If you could hurry up and decide, that’d be great. I think my toes are starting to turn blue.” She added a smile to the end of her sentence, trying to make him smile too, but all she could see staring back at her was the anguish in his eyes as he replayed the scene in the diner over and over again.

Without a word, Jefferson climbed into the passenger side of her Buick, slamming the door behind him. The night was getting colder, and he didn’t want to be out on the streets any more, he also didn’t want to be responsible for March getting sick because she was too stubborn to just forget about him. Tonight was a mistake, and he just wanted it over, and forgotten. Happy endings didn’t exist in this world, how could he have forgotten that?

Climbing back in on the driver side March turned the engine back on. They drove in total silence. The last thing she wanted was for Jefferson to be alone after what he went through back at Granny’s, but sitting in the car with him now, she suspected he was even more alone than before. Not knowing what to say she settled for nothing, deciding it best to let Jefferson feel whatever he was feeling, but at least he wasn’t alone where he could do something potentially dangerous, and harm himself.

Pulling into the drive she parked the car behind his. Turning the engine off they sat there, the lights of the car slowly fading until the only light pouring in came from the house’s outside lights and the moon. It would have been easy for them to just get out and go inside like nothing had happened. But they didn’t. They sat in the car, frozen, unwilling to shatter the silence that had fallen over them.

“It wasn't being in town tonight that made you nervous tonight was it?” asked March recalling the way his hands shook, spilling the glass of wine on the table. She thought he had just been nervous seeing everyone, knowing who they really were and seeing them as they are now, scared of the damage Emma and Mary Margaret’s stories had done to his reputation. Then she realized as she ran towards the car, Jefferson didn’t care what people thought about him. It was the whole reason why she liked him. It was her.

“Tonight was a date… A real one… Wasn’t it?” she added softly looking through her windshield at the giant illuminated house. Turning her head slowly to the right, she watched the myriad of emotions play behind his eyes.

“Supposed to be,” admitted Jefferson, his voice strained as he forced the reply. Rigidly, he sat in the passenger seat, the seatbelt still wrapped across his chest and waist. “Until I ruined it,” he added bitterly.

His little stunt with Emma and Mary Margaret hadn’t won him any friends, but he didn’t expect them to be that adamant about March staying away from him. Now he could hardly look her in the eye, let alone speak to her. Seeing her pull up next to him on the walk home came as no great surprise. Had it been anyone else they'd be half way to New York by now, but not March. No, she came looking for him, worried, wanting to make sure he was okay, and unwilling to leave him in his madness, offered him a hand to hold so he knew he wasn't alone. Tonight only managed to make him love her even more, and the pain of knowing nothing would never happen was killing him slowly. Any hopes he had were dashed the moment he saw Grace stroll into the diner.

Perhaps tonight would be the night he would finally upgrade to arsenic.

 

Heart hammering, March looked back to the windshield. How could he honestly think that he ruined tonight? If anyone were to blame it was Emma and Mary Margaret. But she had a feeling Jefferson would be thanking them instead of cursing them. Taking a deep breath she steadied herself. This was it. Reaching over she grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers with his.

Surprised by their sudden warmth, Jefferson looked down at their hands, intertwined together. It was almost as if he didn’t trust his hand to recognize that he was holding her hand, or was she holding his? It didn’t matter. He had to see it for himself to know it was actually there. Looking from their hands up to her, Jefferson tried to figure out what exactly was happening. His heart beat a little faster as he desperately tried to calm himself, and not get too far ahead of himself.

“Night’s not over yet,” she whispered, leaning in close, pushing some of the hair from his face before brushing his lips with hers in a gentle kiss.

Stunned, Jefferson sat passively, still trying to make sense of what was happening. Was she really kissing him? She was. She was kissing him, and he wasn’t kissing her back. Why wasn’t he kissing her back? He had been so sure he’d blown any and all chances he had with her back at the diner he could not fathom that this was how the night would end. But it wasn’t over yet. His first instinct was to reach out and touch, to feel that this was really happening, and not one of his hallucinations – he needed a touch to know when things were real, a quirk he’d picked up from her. Hesitant, timid fingers reached out, burying themselves in masses of thick, golden brown curls. Pulling her in, deepening the kiss that had taken him by surprise.

This was real.

When she pulled away all he could do was stare back at her, his mouth slightly agape. Did that really just happen? Grinning, drunk off the taste of him, she shifted in the drivers seat, looking at him with those same hyperactive blue eyes that made him melt every time they looked at him. Studying him, reading his face for some kind of reaction. She waited. Having shown him her hand, going all in, it was his move.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off hers, as though she’d suddenly disappear if he blinked, Jefferson reached down un-clicking the seatbelt restraining him, before leaning towards her. He needed her lips against his again, and he needed them now. Moving a cautious hand around her neck, he pulled her in to him, slowly, until their lips met in an impassioned kiss. Cupping the side of his face with her hand, he felt her smile as she kissed him back. And he knew she felt it too. The mutual feeling of ‘why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?’ He didn’t know why they waited so long, maybe she had been as unsure about him as he had been about her.

What he did know was that she was well worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a heads up - I graduate Film School in 2.5 weeks, and after wards I'm going to be out of the country for a little while - so I might not be able to post the following chapter as I regularly do. I just wanted to give everyone a fair warning. Hope you enjoyed this chapter though.


	16. Bad Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between March and Jefferson get really... Heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you guys can see from the story's rating change this chapter does contain smut, and it is somewhat detailed. If you're uncomfortable with that, feel free to skip this chapter. And if you decide to not carry on, I completely understand and thanks for sticking it out this far :)
> 
> I chose to go with M instead of E as this is a primarily plot based story, but from here on out there will be chapters with sex, and it will at times be detailed, but this is not a porn based fic. 
> 
> I wrote this scene a very long time ago, and was my first time writing a sex scene, so I hope it's alright. Basically just listened to the 30 Seconds to Mars cover of "Bad Romance" on loop while writing this. 
> 
> Think that's everything... And away we go!

Each taste of her lips sent shocks of white hot electricity through his body setting his blood on fire an suddenly the night didn’t feel so cold. Gradually, Jefferson started to slip into a different kind of madness, a beautifully chaotic one he had not felt in a very, very long time. With every kiss, the desires he felt growing over the last few weeks intensified. A million questions begged to be answered, but every fervent kiss, and playful nip at his lower lip pushed them further from memory. She was a biter. He liked that. He wanted her, yearned for her in the worst possible ways.

“You want to take this inside?” she asked with laboured breath, gasping to try and catch her breath again. Had the low howl of a wolf not caught their attention, she doubted they would have come up for air at all, having died happily on the other’s last breath.

“More than anything,” Jefferson whispered in agreement. Opening the door, something spilled out of the passenger side seat and on to the ground. Picking it up, Jefferson chuckled. He rounded to the other side of the car, opening the door for March.

“Lose something?” he mused with a grin, kneeling on the ground before her.

“My shoes,” she shouted happily as he slid each pump on to their respective foot.

“Much better,” Jefferson smiled, standing back up off the ground. Throwing her hands around his neck, March slide out of the car and into his arms, closing the door with a kick of her leg, not bothering to lock the doors. If somebody wanted to take the trouble of coming this far up to steal her car, they were welcomed to it. She was too busy relishing in the feeling of being in his arms. And though they’d held her a hundred times before, she knew this time it was different. Wrapping them around her waist, Jefferson pressed her body firmly against his as he started kissing her again. He couldn’t help it. Feeling her body pressed up against his, arms wrapped around his neck as her lips gently brushed against his, it was all so addicting. At this rate, he figured maybe they’d make it inside by morning.

Another yip of a wolf’s howl in the distance encouraged them to make their way to the door. There would be plenty of time to resume their late night activities once they were safely inside. Besides, inside they could do other things too.

* * *

 

They barely made it through the front door before he pinned her gently against the wall, claiming her mouth in a series of fervent kisses. Forcibly, he reminded himself that no matter what happened, or how lost in his passions he became, he had to be gentle. Gentle was no easy feat, not now that he could actually hold her the way he’d wanted to for some time. Pinning her against the wall, feeling her body beneath his – he was just getting warmed up.

Fingers grazed her neck as he reached his hands up, cupping her face before threading his fingers in the hair she spent the better part of an hour curling, with Ruby’s help. His other hand snaked back down the length of her body, wrapping itself around her waist pulling her body in closer to his. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, effectively deepening the kiss.

“Isn’t it bad form to go to bed with a man after the first date?” March teased. Following Jefferson’s eyes towards the master bedroom she couldn’t help but grin wickedly, her hyperactive blue eyes twinkling, as she spoke.

Knowing she wanted him as badly as he needed her came as an enormous relief to Jefferson. “When most people go on a first date they’re not already living with their date.” Jefferson explained whispering in her ear. “But if you’re worried, I promise to call you in the morning.”

The heat of his breath warming the cool skin on her neck sent a shiver down her spine in the most delicious way. “Good thing we’re not most people then,” she smirked, looking at him before leaning back in for another kiss.

Something about his lips, they filled her with something, she didn’t know what. It wasn’t passion or desire, it wasn’t even lust. She had felt all those things, but this was something different entirely. Something she’d never experienced before, but whatever it was she was hooked. She ran eager fingers through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of thick brown hair where she could, keeping him pressed as close to her as possible.

Lifting her into his arms, holding her carefully, Jefferson carried her over to the master bedroom. Not bothering to turn the lights on, he placed her softly on the king size bed before shutting the door behind them. The low hanging moon flooded the room with silver light, reflecting beautifully off the grey silk sheets.

Standing back on her own two feet, March walked over to Jefferson where he stood by the door, simply watching her.

Some part of him stood in disbelief of everything that happened, and were about to happen. He liked what was happening, he just couldn’t believe that it was finally happening; too long he had played the scenarios in his head of them together, all of them more sinful as the last. No fantasy compared to this reality. His reality.

“What?” she eyed him flirtatiously, looking up into his eyes blazing in the moonlight. “Is something the matter?” she asked quickly, worried he might be having second thoughts.

“Nothing.” He smiled, heart swelling at the sight of her. “Just… Has anyone ever told you that you wear moonlight exceptionally well,” he breathed, chuckling at the sight of her blush in the wake of his praise.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she smiled stepping back to admire the sight of him bathed completely in moonlight. She’d seen him in this lighting before, but not like this; his usual nervous energy absent Instead it was replaced by a calm, collected cool mixed with a slight air of confidence. It was a good look on him. “Though, I think you need help out of this,” she purred, stepping towards him again.

Nimble fingers reached forward and began working away at the numerous buttons of his grey tweed waistcoat. Soon she was pushing the loosened garment back off his shoulders where it fell to the floor, before she worked on the cravat around his neck.

His hand caught hers when she reached for the fabric, startling her. He hadn’t meant to. Reflex. She hadn’t seen his scar before tonight, she knew about it, but to date he always kept it hidden beneath his numerous scarves, cravats, neck ties, collared shirts etc.

What would happen when she saw it? Would she scream? Would she turn away from him? He did not know. The fear of such uncertainty paralyzed him in the past; preventing him from showing her the most intimate part of him. Slowly he began to unwrap the fabric from around his neck, not taking his eyes off her as she watched him curiously. Discarding the cravat to the ground he waited anxiously for her next move.

Seeing the long thin line of smooth skin reflected in the moonlight, March surprised him. Stepping closer she studied the scar with her curious gaze, fascinated. Then she hesitantly reached towards him, tracing her fingers along the line before leaning up and gently pressing her soft lips along the track it left across his neck.

Gently kissing his neck she followed the scar from one side to the other, and then back again. However self-conscious he felt showing such a vulnerable part of him to her soon dissipated with the warmth of each sweet, compassionate, kiss she placed on his neck.

Wrapping his arms around her, Jefferson held her tight afraid that if he let her go she’d disappear. Warm pools of relief coursed from his core to his limbs, thawing his body from the ice-cold fear of her rejection. Looking up at him, with a knowing look she shook her head dismissing the very notion that something as little as a scar could scare her away.   Resting his forehead against hers, he bumped the tip of her nose, with his, up until he caught her lips again, careful to ensure he properly expressed his gratitude for her compassion.

Reaching behind her he found the zipper for her dress. Teasingly, he pulled it at tortuously slow pace down her back, allowing her flushed skin to mix with the cool night air that filled the room from an open nearby window.

Shuddering as he went March inhaled sharply, breaking the kiss, her eyes danced impishly as she grinned back at him. With the back completely unzipped she stepped back shrugging out of the dress, letting it crumple to the ground, exposing a grey and black silk merry widow trimmed with intricate lace along the sides, a view complete with lace underwear and garters.

Had she planned on this while getting ready tonight? Or did she always dress so deliciously beneath her common work a day clothes? Jefferson didn’t know, and quite frankly, didn’t care. He was consumed in drinking in the sight of March in what he believed had to be the most enticing lingerie he’d ever seen. She was, in a word, breathtaking.

Seductively, she smiled at him and walked back towards the bed, beckoning him to follow her. Like a magnet he was drawn to her, every step back she took he felt the pull filling him with the need to close the distance. He would not be satisfied until she was touching him once again. Closer and closer he came towards her until their bodies were inches apart. Looking up at him through a veil of caramel tresses March bit her lip, waiting for him to make his move.

With her permission, Jefferson pushed the hair away from her face by running his hands through the stray strands. He wanted to see her, see the curve of her smile in the pale light, see the light dance behind her eyes, and the freckles dusting her nose.  

Using his other hand to keep her pressed against his body, he released her hair to grab hold of the bed, gently easing her down. Straddling her legs he quickly discarded his grey silk shirt before taking in the sight of her, waiting, beneath him. Her skin took an ethereal glow in the sliver light, contrasting with the dark shadows of the intricate lace work on her corselet. The subtle swell of her breasts, heaving with each baited breath, enticingly threatened to spill over the grey silken cups at any given second.

It wasn’t the heavenly glow of her skin, or the promise of her bosom coming free from their silky confines that made him stop and stare at her, it was the look in her eyes, even half lidded as they were now with lust, she looked at him in a way no one ever had before. Grace’s mother certainly never looked at him that way. He didn’t know what that look was, but it was addictive and made his heart beat a little bit faster.

Lowering himself, so his weight pressed comfortably down on her, he gave her a wolfish smirk before capturing her lips with another kiss. Moaning, as he kissed her, March reached behind him, raking his back with her fingernails, surely leaving deep, angry, red marks in their wake. The pressure on his back, combined with the sweet taste of her lips on his, created an intoxicating sensation driving him near the edge of control.

Slowly, he moved in a southern direction with his lips, leaving a trail of sweet kisses and gentle nips along her jaw, neck, until he was gently dragging his teeth along her collarbone eliciting another melodic moan.

Stopping in his tracks he looked back into her crystal eyes, groaning like an impatient child.

“I don’ want to be friends anymore,” he breathed, “I can’t.” He sat back on his heels, eying the writhing siren beneath him. “Not with you.”

Stunned by the randomness of his confession March bolted up, and stared at him. “What?” was all she could manage. Her brow quirked up, exploring his face for any tell tale sign of what he meant.

Grinning with a wicked twinkle in his eye, revelling in her bewilderment he leaned over, tracing an eager hand over the lace side of her bodice. Kissing the exposed swell of her breasts he worked his way back to her neck, and jaw. Teasingly he kissed the tip of her nose, before nipping at her lower lip. “I don’t want to be friends,” he whispered, his breath heavy against her ear.

“Then what do you want?” she whispered in amusement, the heat from her breath tickled his ear as she nipped at his sensitive lobe.

Grazing a hand along her back, grabbing a generous handful of her backside, “You,” he hissed.

Pressing her body firmly against his, March slowly whispered, “Jefferson,” while brushing the hair from his face. All she had to say was his name in that tone and he knew. The reason why she insisted he stay in the shop with her while she worked, why she stayed with him even though Marco promised her pipes were fixed, why she refused to date, despite her numerous offers. She was his. Had been for a long time, practically since the beginning, only now he knew it too.

Grinning he brushed his lips against hers in a quick, heated kiss. “I need to taste you,” he announced in a soft, ragged tone as he pulled away, leaving her wanting more. Sliding down, kissing the soft skin on the inside of her legs he moved down towards the end of the bed. Grabbing March by the ankles he dragged her, giggling and shrieking in delight, to the edge of the bed.

Detaching them from the garters, he hooked his thumbs through the legs of her lacy lingerie, dragging them down, to her ankles with one swift tug. Bunching them up he sent the tiny scraps of lace sailing somewhere across the room. Eager to see if she was every bit as sweet as he imagined she’d taste, he retuned his attention to her legs.

Those beautiful, long, clumsy legs, Gods, how he loved those legs. He even loved the random pattern of bruises that dusted their length because she was constantly running into something. Starting with her knees he trailed feather light kisses along the inside of her legs until he reached the apex of her thighs.

Eyes darting up, he caught a glimpse of March gripping fistfuls of grey silk in anticipation. Her eyes caught his, causing a wolfish grin to curl on his face as he licked his lips. His tongue grazed along the length of her slit at a tantalizing slow pace, eliciting a low moan, steeped with wanton desire, from his lover. He loved the sound of that. His lover.

Nearing the top he flicked that sweet little bundle of nerves; that action alone pushed her closer to the edge than she’d been in months. Releasing one fistful of sheets she reached down, grabbing his hair, keeping his head pressed against her swollen sex. Picking up the speed Jefferson alternated between dragging his tongue along her glistening folds in slow lapping motions to quick tender flicks against her clit.

Running her fingers through the tufts of brown hair currently situated between her thighs March moaned as Jefferson brought her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Scrunching her eyes shut, she enjoyed each stroke of his artful tongue against her, while she slipped further into mounting ecstasy. Savouring the heavenly feeling of his heated mouth against her cleft she felt herself slipping between states of desire and ecstasy.

His every action, as though only reminded her further of a different hunger she had. He was not the only one to be burdened with ardent wanting. She wanted to be dragged slowly to the edge, and then pulled back again only to be flung over the precipice of desire as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside her.

Nearing sweet release she tightened her grip on his hair, tugging gently on the follicles as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink of utter undoing. Opening one eye she peaked downwards at him where she found eyes, the colour of a midwinter sky, staring back at her with a look of satisfaction coupled with a deep sense of yearning. Seeing him, watching her take every ragged breath, utter every lust filled moan was enough to giver her that final push over the brink.

Waves of ecstasy crashed around her with each sharp intake of breath as her orgasm took hold. Jolting up from where she lay she kept his head pressed against her core as she rode out the ebbing waves of pleasure coursing through her body as he continued pleasing her with his mouth. His eyes never strayed from her face, keenly watching her come completely undone by his tongue; taking full satisfaction in knowing that he alone had done that.

Collapsing back onto the bed, her chest heaving, she watched a satisfied Jefferson rise back onto his feet, and crawl onto the bed beside her. Leaning in close enough for her to hear he spoke, barely above a whisper, “even sweeter than I could have imagined.” Still fighting to regain breath March looked over at him sideways before pulling him in for a long, deep, kiss. Nibbling at his lip she reminded him that the night was still far from over.

Reaching down Jefferson made quick work of the buttons and hooks lining the front of her corselet, discarding the garment in the same unceremonious manner as he did with her underwear. Looking back he saw her body, bathed in the light peering in through the open window facing the forest, splayed out on his bed for only his eyes to see.

What a sight.

His desire throbbed and strained against the confines of his dark jeans, begging for release, as he revelled in the sight of such lovely skin in cold moonlight. Tracing his hand between her breasts he continued to venture south until he slid one finger where his tongue had just been.

“Mmm, feels like you’re ready to me,” he smiled cheekily as she took a sharp breath. Feeling particularly generous he slid in another digit. Moaning, as he continued to tease her by sliding his fingers in and out, she clenched around him. Slowly he withdrew his fingers, and she mourned their absence immediately. Her only comfort was in knowing that something even better would soon return in their place.

“Just had to have one more taste,” he whispered seductively to her while licking her slick arousal off each of his long, slender fingers.

Almost anything would be seductive to her at this point, he could have said that he wanted to shave a gnome, and she would not have cared. She was lost entirely in need. Reclaiming control she reached down, and undoing the buttons of his pants, helping rid him of such burdensome clothing.

“Growing impatient, sweetheart?” he mused with a cocky grin. Some parts of the old hatter, long forgotten, remained buried deep.

Rising to his challenge March decided to return favour. He wasn’t the only one capable of teasing. Sliding nimble fingers beneath the fabric of his pants she found what she was looking for, his manhood already hard, and waiting for her. Gently she grazed the backside of her nail down the length, eliciting an eager, sharp exhalation from her lover. Pleased, she continued to tease him, alternating between stroking his shaft and swirling her thumb over the glistening head. Revelling in the sound of his lusty moans as she brought him closer to the precipice of undoing, she eyed him the way a cat eyed a mouse. After all, he wasn’t the only one with a past.

Finally unable to bear anymore sweet torment, Jefferson grabbed her wrist with a manic grin indicating playtime was just about to begin. Chuckling at her growing amusement he leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “Tell me what you really want.”

She wanted to feel him pressing her deep into the mattress as he claimed her. She craved his touch against her skin as he filled her over and over again, and the blissful haze that would fill her mind until she forgot all other names aside from his. Instead she wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him close until the smell of his cologne filled her senses and the rough bits of stubble already growing back from when he shaved this morning brushed against her cheek as she pressed her lips against his. Soft and plush as they were it only took a moment for them to grow hungrier as his tongue glided against hers. With his defences down, March seized the opportunity. With surprising strength and quick reflexes March rolled Jefferson over until she sat poised above him, one hand still gripping his shoulders as the other gripped his cock.

“Why didn’t you say so?” He breathed through an amused grin. Smirking, he aligned the head of his shaft with slick core. Both Jefferson and March moaned with sweet relief as he buried himself to the hilt.

He waited for a moment, allowing her to grow accustomed to his size as he filled her, stretching her further than she had been in a very long time. With a single a nod, signalling that she was ready for more, she moved. Gradually sliding up his shaft until only the tip remained sheathed, before gliding back down. At some point they flipped again, with Jefferson back on top.

Slowly, he dragged himself out only to drive back into her, pushing her deep into the mattress. Initially he set his thrusts to a gradual pace as he claimed her. Looking down he found her smiling back up at him before she leaned up to kiss him. Burying his face in the crook of her neck he relished in the feeling of her body beneath his as her arms circled his neck.

Admittedly it had been a long time for either of them, but together they were pleasantly surprised to find that it was really like riding a deliciously warm, thick, bicycle. Bringing her legs up, and wrapping them around his waist, she held him in place, simultaneously allowing him deeper access as he struck her core, increasing her own pleasure and his. With every strike of his cock against her inner walls she tightened her legs.

Releasing his neck March grabbed hold of his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Firmly, he clamped his fingers around hers for fear of breaking their connection as he continued pumping his cock into her. The simple touch of her hand on his as he claimed her sent jolts of electric satisfaction through his system.

Jefferson fought to maintain control of his base desires. Part of him wanted to drive into her with all of his might, fuck her raw, and bring about his own sweet release as quickly as possible. He knew, however, you only got one chance at a first time, and he wanted his first time with March to last as long, and be as delicious as possible; to have his name be the only one on her mind, and tongue from now until the end of time, and have her ache for him and him alone, to have her savour the sensation of his shaft so she’d always be painfully aware of its absence when their connection was broken. He wanted her to experience pleasure as she’d never experienced it before. But most of all, he wanted tonight to never end.

He revelled in the feeling her so soft and warm around his member, the sound of her moaning and gasping beneath of him, the sight of her eyes hooded with lust, and coy smile on her face washed in moonlight. And he wanted all of it seared into his memory. So then if it were to be their only time together he could relive it every night until the end of his days.

Reaching around his neck with her free arm March pressed her chest up against him. Between moans she pressed her feverish lips against his shoulder, kissing and nipping at the salty skin along the bone. A low hiss escaped her lips as her nails left angry crescent shapes in his neck when he struck a particularly sweet spot with his cock.

Grinning maniacally Jefferson leaned back, and thrust as hard as he could against that spot again, and again. Rolling her hips she met his every thrust with her own as she clung to him even harder, her grip on his hand tightening until her nails threatened to puncture the skin beneath. She was close. He could feel her walls slowly start to flutter around him as her orgasm continued to build, and that turned him on even more.

“You going to cum?” he whispered. His hot breath on her neck forced her body to quiver as though struck with a sudden chill despite the feverish temperature of her skin. “Hmm?” he wondered, ghosting a hand over her bosom, flicking his thumb against a soft rosy peak. “I know you want to,” he taunted slightly, grinning at her in the moonlight. “I want you to cum. Please cum for me?”

Eyes trained on her mouth, his swollen lips found hers, and kissed them gently as he started roaming her body, dusting it with feather light kisses. He started with her ear, nibbling on her ear lobe, before he trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of tender love bites and teeth marks as he pinched and kissed her scorching skin.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered with ragged breath, begging him to continue filling her with his engorged cock. A few more thrusts, and the coil buried deep inside snapped. Gripping his hand harder than before her breaths became rapid and shallow as she reached the peak of oblivion.

“That’s right,” he said with a knowing smirk as he picked up the pace. Clutching his hand for life itself, the walls of her sex fluttered around him firmly as he pushed her over the edge. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer – but long enough. Bucking her hips to meet his, she cried his name over and over again like a desperate prayer until her voice became hoarse and raw.

Needing to feel her lips on his he silenced her cries by trapping her body against the bed, kissing her with the last remnants of his strength and self-control. Reading her lover’s want, she clung to his back with her free hand as she rode out the last waves of her pleasure.

With a sly grin, she broke the kiss and leant up to his ear, whispering, “you going to cum? I know you want to. And you know what? I want you to cum. Harder and faster than ever before. You gonna do that for me? You gonna cum?” she teased with a husky, voice.

Her words spurred him on, plunging into her, deeper and faster than before until she was clenching around him again, crying his name with renewed fervour. This time he allowed himself to let go. His thrusts became erratic and fervent until he was groaning her name, holding her body close to his as he spilling himself inside of her, coating the walls of her sex with his cum. It took a few more slow languid thrusts until his cock was completely milked of seed. Soon after he finished, feelings of weariness set in causing him to slowly crumple on top of her in his exhausted state.

Content with his weight bearing down on her, March wrapped her arms around him, holding his head tightly against her slick, sweat soaked bosom. Both of them panting contently.

Rolling off her, still panting, Jefferson lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. The cool touch of the silk of his sheets contrasted pleasantly with his scorching flesh. Looking over nervously, he watched March’s chest rise and fall with each pant. Lazily she rolled her head in his direction, catching him watching her. A smile broke out on her face and she crawled over, resting her damp head close to his chest. Wary that her body’s heat might be too much for him she settled for nestling in close to his body without actually touching him.

Pulling her on top so her head rested against his slick chest, Jefferson wrapped his arms around her holding her tightly against him. In tandem the lovers heaved a sigh of utter contentment. Several minutes passed and they just laid there, neither of them speaking, just enjoying the silence as March traced mindless designs on his skin with her nails.

“I’m going to get a Popsicle,” she announced. “You want one?” She popped her head, looking up at him.

Chuckling he tilted his head down, looking back at her. “Why a Popsicle?”

“I need one,” she shrugged. “It’s generally how I can tell if the sex was any good,” she explained, resting her chin on his chest. “If it’s really good, then I need a Popsicle to cool down after something so,” she paused for either dramatic effect, or simply to think of the right word. “Hot,” she said with a wicked grin before kissing the sensitive area just under his nipple.

A shiver rippled down his spine as she continued to pepper his bare chest with sweet kisses. “Keep that up and I won’t need to cool down. I’ll need something to warm me up again.” He wrapped his arms around her even tighter, not wanting to let her go even for the two minutes it’d take to walk to the freezer for a popsicle.

“How about a deal then?” she paused her kisses to look back at him. “I go grab us some popsicles, then we see about round two?”

“Or,” Jefferson countered with a low growl. “We start the second round now, and you have two popsicles later.” Using what strength he had left he flipped both of them over, trapping her body against the bed with his once again, causing March to shriek followed by a fit of giggles as she landed with a dull bounce on the soft mattress. Were they closer to the ocean he might consider her a siren with the way her sweet laughter made him feel.

“You sir,” she laughed, “have yourself a deal.” Leaning up she placed what started out as a chaste kiss on his lips, before it quickly turned into a kiss filled with wild abandon. All it took was a gentle glide over her lower lip with his tongue, and he was permitted to explore the inner recesses of her mouth.  

There was a chance he would have been content just to spend the rest of the night kissing her, but with every second his lips spent pressed against hers that chance grew smaller and smaller as he was reminded of heavenly sensation of having her warmth around him.

It was going to be a wonderfully long night.


	17. Past the Point of Rescue

A cool breeze drifted into the darkened bedroom from a nearby window, evicting March from a peaceful sleep. Shuddering at the cool intrusion against her skin she groped in the darkness for a handful of blankets, and a warm form to hold and chase away the cold. She founds the blankets, but not the man. Forcing a sleep laden eye open she found the spot beside her, where Jefferson layed, cold and empty. Wrapping the sheets around her, covering her exposed bosom, March sat up, looking for any signs of her hatter, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness, the moon light acting as her eyes only guide. Her dress and undergarments were still where he discarded them earlier, and his shirt remained bunched up on the floor, but his pants were gone.

Concerned, March threw her legs over the side of the bed, where her toes mercifully met with the small bedside rug Jefferson kept, so the cold floor didn't send her body into total shock. Reaching for the first article of clothing she could find, she dressed quickly before heading out into the corridor leading towards the kitchen.

She knew exactly where he'd be.

 

* * *

 

 

Stooped over another one of his creations, Jefferson pulled gently at the thread as he finished attaching the small bow along the base where the top met the brim. He forgot how long he'd been at work now. When he came down into his workshop the hat had been little more than another carbon copy of the one he'd spent years trying to recreate in the off chance that maybe that one would be able to take him and Grace back to their home. The longer he worked on it however, the more it deviated from the original design, until he had created something entirely different. Careful not to wake March, he came down here with the hopes that the monotony of his work would distract him, clear his mind from the thoughts that had so rudely interrupted his sleep. He hadn't counted on it taking on new life of its own.

Pricking his thumb with the sharpened needle, Jefferson cursed quietly. His fingers were set on betraying him tonight; this was the third time he'd stuck himself with that damned needle. Ordinarily skilled and agile, tonight they were clumsy and awkward as he tried bringing his design to completion. Setting the nearly completed hat on his table he pressed the pad of his thumb to his mouth, sucking on the tender skin, tasting the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. Nursing his minor injury, he wondered why his body was hell bent on punishing him. He had left an attractive woman alone in his bed, to come downstairs and work on a hat, all because he couldn't get the voices screaming in his mind to shut up. Wasn't that punishment enough? Apparently not. Apparently he hadn't suffered enough, so he had to continuously stick himself with the implements of his trade until he lost all feeling in his thumb.

In the midst of his annoyance, he hadn't noticed the hesitant knock at the door, until he caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision. Turning his head to the side, all thoughts about needles, hats and suffering vanished.

“Hi there,” he greeted with an involuntary grin, unable to hide just how happy the sight of her made him. Dressed in nothing more than a dress shirt a size or two too large for her, and her laced knickers she leaned against the doorframe, with an extra large teacup in her hands.

“Thought you might need something to warm up, there’s a bit of a chill in the house,” March stepped forward. Setting down the steaming teacup on the worktable not far from the scraps of fabric, and the nearly finished project that pulled him from her side. Stepping around behind him she bent down, wrapping her arms around his neck, hands sliding down his chest, stroking him as they worked their way down.

Jefferson hadn't noticed the chill until the warmth of her body pressed against his back. Shuddering at the contrast, he set the small scissors in this hand on to the table, and leaned back so his head rested on her shoulder.

“What are you working on?” she wondered curiously.

“It’s nothing,” he smiled gazing up at her, heart swelling at the genuine look of fascination in her eye. “I’m sorry, was I making too much noise? Did I wake you?”

“No, she dismissed his concern. “I woke up due to the chill, and when I couldn’t find you, I figured you might be down here working.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he explained, “and I didn’t want to wake you with my tossing and turning.” Reaching up behind him he held her arm, desperate just to prove she was really there. His grasp on reality waxed and waned with increasing frequency, part of him still didn't trust to believe that tonight actually happened, it was too perfect, not the date itself but the part after. It couldn’t be real. Nothing in this world was that perfect.

“What’s got your mind in a toss? Was it seeing Grace back at the diner tonight?”

“No,” sighed Jefferson, leaning forward breaking free from her touch. Resting his forehead against the polished wood of the table he scrunched his eyes shut. “It’s us,” he said, hoping that maybe if he didn’t look at her as he spoke then maybe in some off chance she wouldn’t hear him. Maybe the wind would carry away the words before they reached her ears. He didn’t want to tell her, but he knew the words he didn’t want to say had to be spoken. It was the only way he’d get any peace of mind, even if it meant destroying them. Why couldn’t he just let himself be happy? 

“Us?” repeated March looking surprised. Not letting go of him, she pulled gently on his shoulder so he returned to sitting back in his chair. “What about us?”

The hints of hurt and confusion inflected in her voice broke what little of Jefferson’s heart had remained intact after the curse. It killed him. Taking a couple deep breaths he paused for a moment trying to figure out the right way to convey the madness going on inside of his head.

“Happy endings don’t exist in your world; that’s why Regina’s curse brought us here. And for a time I believed it... That my only hope was the curse breaking and going home with Grace. Then you came along,” he paused to look up at her, heart aching in his chest. She would never know how it swelled every time he looked at her, how she filled him with hope. “Sweet, wonderful, quirky you,” he smiled, running his fingers through his hair.

“After we met, I felt something I haven’t felt in a very long time... I felt... Happy.” He paused, licking his lips, but they still felt dry, and his mouth felt sticky as he tried to keep going. “You make me happy, and it terrifies me.” He admitted, acknowledging the small simple truth he tried to deny, the same way Emma tried to deny that she was the saviour.   “Because every time I start to feel happy, someone, usually Regina, comes and rips it all away. Once is tragedy, twice is crippling, but three times is habit forming. It’s the ultimate way to inflict pain, training someone to fear happiness – then they start to torture themselves, and you don’t even have to lift a finger to make them suffer. They just do it for you.”

Glaring up at the scissors laying on the table, and the hats sitting in a perfect line in the case behind him, mocking him, all of it a painful reminder of his happiness lost. “These past few months have been the happiest I have known in a long time, and I know that I can’t… I can’t lose you too. If I did, it’ll be enough to push me over the edge of what precious sanity I still have.”

Taking his hand in hers March gave his hand a reassuring, comforting squeeze. “I think I know what you’re getting at,” she smiled sadly. “You’re worried that if we take this to a romantic level... What happens if things don't work out down the road?” She paused, nibbling on her bottom lip as she thought about something. Kneeling in front of him, she tilted his chin until his eyes met hers. “Jefferson, I need you to be completely honest with me, because at the moment we are very close to crossing a line, a point of no return, but we’re not there yet. So I have to ask, do you want to go back to being just friends?”

Sitting forward in his chair, Jefferson pondered what she said. They hadn’t totally crossed the line from friends to lovers – and plenty of people had friends with benefits relationships, they could bounce back from this, but did he want to?

“No,” he found himself replying as though he found the very idea preposterous. No, he didn’t want to just be friends with her. He wanted to be the reason for that smile that seemed to light up her whole face. He wanted to be hers.

“Me too,” she grinned, leaning up to place a sweet kiss on his lips, before climbing into his lap. “And I’m not going anywhere, not so long as I have a reason to stay.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed her tightly against him. This felt right. “You know you’re going to become a pariah in this town now,” he muttered softly into her shoulder, where he rested his chin. “For choosing me, they’ll call you crazy, and a whole lot worse but none of it to your face. It'll all be behind your back. To them you’re mad.”

“Fuck the town,” she scoffed. “I’d rather be mad with you, than sane with the whole lot of them,” she took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “Who decided that being mad was such bad thing? It's all relative, really. The way I see it, it just means that we've accepted a reality they refuse to acknowledge... Besides, mum always said all the best people are mad.”

“You swore,” he looked back at her, shocked and amused. This had to be the first time he’d ever heard her say anything worse than ‘God damn it’ or 'Bloody hell.' “I didn’t think you knew how.”

“Of course I know how,” laughed March. “I’ll have you know it was the British who turned cursing into an art form.”

Nodding, a tiny grin crept along Jefferson’s face. There was an immense satisfaction in being chosen above an entire town. Looking at her, sitting in his arms snuggled up against his chest, he knew that were their roles reversed, and the choice his, he would have done the same thing. If this was madness, he was all for it.

Toying with the hem of her shirt he noticed something.

“This is mine,” he said, recognizing the shirt as the one he wore earlier that night on their disastrous date.

“I know. It was the first thing I found in the bedroom,” explained March with a casual shrug.

“I like it.” He smiled at her, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Like what?” she wondered. An amused grin rippled across her face as she started drumming her fingers against his bare chest.

“You,” he replied between kisses, “in my clothes. I like it.” Fisting his hand in her hair he pulled her in for a long, impassioned kiss.

Sheepishly looking down, doing her best to conceal the satisfied smile she looked back at him. “So you think you might want to give this whole sleeping thing another try?” She yawned, unaware of just how tired she’d been.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he agreed, stifling a yawn of his own. Together they left the workshop, and made the long trek back to the master bedroom, with Jefferson’s arm wrapped around her waist the entire time. The only time he let her go was when they crawled under the abandoned blankets. Afterwards he pulled her close so her head rested against him and his arm draped over her body. Nuzzling in against him, March wrapped her arm around his broad chest and together they drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have officially run out of stored up story. The good news (depending how you look at it) is I'm back from my travels, and currently unemployed. That means I have free time to write... Hopefully enough to get me over to my next reserves within the story. So fair warning, if posting becomes a little less steady in the coming months... You know why. I'm going to do my best to ensure there is always enough to post at the beginning of each month... but life happens.


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